


I Love the Night

by Paranoid_Android



Category: Blue Oyster Cult (Band), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, But it's Moriarty so what do you expect?, Hellhounds, M/M, Mild animal abuse, Some Nazi junk, Vampire Mycroft, Vampire Sherlock, nothing too bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-17 23:35:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 26,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paranoid_Android/pseuds/Paranoid_Android
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vampire!Sherlock becomes intrigued by one John H. Watson. But when Moriarty captures and releases John in an attempt to rile Sherlock, will it work? Will John survive Moriarty's hellhounds?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hunter

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a Blue Oyster Cult song called "I Love the Night." Possible dub-con eventually.

**I Love the Night**

by Blue Oyster Cult

_That night her kiss told me it was over_   
_I walked out late into the dark_   
_The misty gloom seems to soak up my sorrow_   
_The further I went on_   
_I felt a spreading calm_   
_Then suddenly my eyes were bathed in light_   
_And the lovely lady in white was by my side_   
_She said "Like me I see you're walking alone_   
_Won't you please stay?"_   
_I couldn't look away_   
  
_She said_   
_“I love the night_   
_The day is okay and the sun can be fun but I live_   
_To see those rays slip away_   
_I love the night_   
_There's so much I can show and give to you_   
_If you will welcome me tonight”_   
  
_If only you had been there my dear_   
_We could have shared this together_   
  
_No mortal was meant to know such wonder_   
_One look in the mirror told me so_   
_Come darkness I'll see her again_   
_Yes I'm gonna go_   
_'cause now I know_   
  
_I love the night_   
_The day is okay and the sun can be fun but I live_   
_To see those rays slip away_   
  
_I love the night_   
_I love the night_   
_I love the night_

 

John was preoccupied as he went for his run.  He had been dumped earlier that night by his latest girlfriend, Julie.  She had been pretty, ambitious, talented, and sweet.  She had told him they weren’t compatible.  Wasn’t John handsome, ambitious, talented, and sweet?  Okay, maybe three out of four wasn’t bad.

Later John would blame his wandering thoughts for why he accidentally took a detour from the normal, safer route.

John felt it before he saw it.  A presence nearby.  He stopped and turned to scan the running path behind and ahead of him, breathing hard.  Dammit.  He knew he got started too late, and here he was on a dark path in a not-great part of town.

He walked a few more minutes to cool down and attempt to breath quieter.  He stopped periodically, not hearing anything.  That didn’t stop the eerie feeling he had, didn’t stop the hairs on the back of his head from standing on end.  At one point he could swear he felt a breath on his neck.  He shook his head.  Wind, that was all.  He was being ridiculous.  Paranoid.  Besides, it’s not like he was unprotected.  He wasn’t an idiot.  He had his gun with him.  He subconsciously rubbed his hand along the small of his back. 

It wasn’t there.

“Looking for something?” John heard from behind him.  Close.  He froze and heard the unmistakable splash of water.  _Shit_.

John turned quickly and peered into the shadows, saying in his best Captain voice, “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.  You will want to stand down.  Now.”

From where the stranger stood, he couldn’t see much of his face, but he could see the half smirk that materialized.  A deep, resonant laugh rumbled towards him.

So, arrogant then.  Maybe high.

John huffed.  “Listen, I don’t have any money.  I don’t carry a wallet when I run.”

“I.Don’t.Want.Your.Money…soldier,” the way the man enunciated each word made John shiver.

John felt a spike of adrenaline and, taking in his surroundings, positioned himself for hand-to-hand combat.  His breathing came in fast inhales and exhales and he clenched his fists.  He could see a bit more now that his eyes were adjusting to the light.  The man looked gaunt and very pale, like a ghost.  What John _could_ see were the stranger’s eyes, piercing…bright…and…rimmed with red???

“Oh, interesting,” the man purred. “This might actually be fun.”  A true smile now.

“What do you want?  You need to let me go.” John was glad his voice didn’t tremble.  In fact, he felt strong and ready to take this jerk on.  He hadn’t fought since returning from Afghanistan.

The stranger’s eyes flitted up and down the length of John’s body several times before his eyes were boring into his again.  They seemed to dilate.

“Listen, I can help you if you need…something.  I’m a doctor.”  John wasn’t offering drugs, but thought maybe the man needed medical attention.  He was thinking of the thinness of the man, his red eyes…

Subconsciously John could feel the stranger tensing for an attack.  The air seemed to crackle around them.

John didn’t even see the man move before he was knocked to the ground.  He had the wind knocked out of him but managed to keep his arms in front of him even as the stranger growled and tried to pin his hands above his head.  They rolled around for several minutes.

The man was quite strong.  Given his slim body, John hadn’t guessed he would be so strong.  Maybe he _was_ high.  Judging from his tactics the man was also trained in some sort of martial arts and hand to hand combat, getting the better of John several times.

At one point John rolled on top, and what he saw made him gasp.  The man looked ecstatic, with a huge grin on his face, and strangely, seemed calm.  Like he wasn’t even breathing.  Like he wasn’t even trying, or worried he would prevail.  His eyes were blown wide, almost black now save for the red rim.  What the fuck?

He must have seen confusion on John’s face, and in his surprise John lost the upper hand.  With a burst of strength his assailant rolled on top of John, straddling him.  John pushed as hard as he could but the man was holding John’s hands above him…with one hand.

They watched each other for a few moments.  John was breathing hard and trying to get free at intervals, intending to lure the man into thinking he had given up.

The man chuckled, throwing his head back.  John couldn’t help running his eyes down the length of his neck.  When John looked back into the man’s eyes, he looked positively predatory.  Strange eyes flicked around John’s face quickly, to his eyes, lips, and finally to his jugular.

“Well.  That was intriguing.  I must say you are _much_ more interesting than any of my other recent catches.  In fact, I’m not sure I can continue with my previous plans.”

John struggled to clear his head, but his mind had stalled at the word ‘catch’.  He furrowed his brow.

He was taken aback when a gloved hand stroked his cheek lovingly.  “Shhh.  Don’t think.  It hurts you, I can see that.”   John glared at the insinuation.

Trying to buy for time until someone else came along the path, John had finally found his voice.  “Listen, I’m not…interested.  I’m not…gay.”  His voice faltered as the man outlined John’s bottom lip with a fingertip.  It was decidedly erotic. _Fuck_.

“I know,” was the smug answer.

In spite of the situation, John balked. “What could you possibly know about me?”

“I know you’re an Army doctor, and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan.  I know your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic, quite correctly I’m afraid. You were dumped tonight, you thought she was nice but she’s an idiot, letting you slip through her fingers, but _most importantly_ , no one will look for you for at least 24 hours.”  Another dazzling smile.   “That’s enough to be going on with, don’t you think?”

John’s mouth had fallen open.  He heard himself say, “That was amazing!”

The man looked doubtful, searching John’s eyes for any trace of mocking.  When he saw only truth (layered with fear of course), he smiled even wider.

“That’s not what people usually say.”

“What do people usually say?”

“Piss off.”  The man had leaned in until their noses were almost touching.  John licked his lips and the man’s eyes focused on them.

“Argh!”

John had kneed the man in the groin, and without looking back, ran as fast as he could back down the path, towards lights and people.

Sherlock laughed, rolling around on the ground like a child.  His laugh was a deep, indulgent noise that sounded like dark chocolate and murder.

“That was a bit reckless, wasn’t it Sherlock?” came a voice as another man stepped from behind a tree.

“Just having fun, Mycroft.”

After a few minutes of contemplation, Sherlock said, “I think I’ll keep him.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes.  “Come on.  We still need to eat.”

 


	2. Hunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John find each other...again.

If John had to describe the next two weeks of his life, he would use the word “hunted.” He never saw anyone, never found any proof of it, but John had never felt so vulnerable in his life. He bought a new gun and carried it at all times. He stopped running at night. After another couple of days of feeling decidedly creepy he quite going out at night. Period.

John was nothing if not a careful man. He locked his doors at night, watched his back constantly, and kept his ears open. He found himself falling back into military reconnaissance tactics by habit. The darkness from his single window at night was disturbing now, whereas previously he liked to look at the night sky. It felt like he was being watched. He bought blinds, but when he put them up he suddenly felt trapped in his one bedroom apartment.

He took to staying up at night, watching telly late, and being tired during the day. This affected his job at the clinic where he had started working.

“John, what’s wrong?” his friend (and hopefully eventual girlfriend) Sarah asked.

“I…just haven’t been sleeping.”

It was true. Not only was he having more dreams of the war than ever before, but now there was a shadow, a dark presence following him around, chasing him when he wasn’t being shot at. Pinning him down. Whispering in his ear. He had woken up a couple times covered in sweat and sure someone was in the room.

“Did you tell the police?” His therapist asked when he told her about the ordeal in the park.

“I…no. I didn’t get a good look at him. I don’t know what I would report.”

“You should, John. They may have other reports from that area. Men are attacked all the time, not just women,” she added, in case John felt embarrassed to do so. “It could be the difference in a police case.”

John nodded and filed a report later that day. He found himself in a small glassed office with a middle aged man with graying temples. He began filling out a detailed report and his contact information.

“So you don’t have any idea what he looked like?” a weary looking DI Lestrade asked.

“Well, tall, thin. Very pale.”

Lestrade furrowed his brow before remarking, “Sounds like a vampire. Ha.”

John gave a small smile.

It had crossed his mind. “He was…predatory. Very good at fighting. I’m ex-military and had a hard time getting away. But it almost felt like he let me,” John mused.

“Ex-military, huh?” Lestrade looked John over, then at the cane at his side. “May I ask what happened?”

John lifted his chin. “Shot. In the shoulder.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Any complications? PTSD?”

“A bit, yes.” It was during the next moment that John realized a possible conclusion of the DI.

“Listen, I’m not having that much trouble. It’s just dreams. I am not making this up.”

Lestrade looked at John for a moment guiltily before saying, “Alright. I believe you.”

When John was done he got up to leave and put his jacket on.

Lestrade watched him a minute then said, “Listen, me and some mates are going out to a pub. You look like you could use a pint. I had a cousin in the Army, I know how it is, not knowing anyone when you get back. You are welcome to come.”

John looked up in surprise, but found only genuine warmth in the DI’s eyes.

“Okay, sure.”

“I’ll just grab my coat,” Lestrade said before locking the office.

At the very least, John reasoned, he’d be safer with a bunch of policemen than he would otherwise. He was wrong.

* * *

 

Ever since that night in the park, Sherlock had not been able to stop thinking about that man with the deep blue eyes. He hadn’t worried about not finding him; his sense of smell and the fact that he had basically memorized the man’s scent during their struggle (vanilla, tea, gun oil, antiseptic, fear) ensured Sherlock would be able to find him again. He had tracked him down the very next day.

Mycroft chastised him for being so mundane, but Sherlock had been impressed with the man’s physique and defensive moves. Not to mention his eyes, and his scent...

Sherlock had replayed their struggle many times, making a room in his Mind Palace to catalog everything the man had done. His grunts, the way he gripped Sherlock’s wrists, what he had said. How amazing he felt as he struggled. Even now it gave Sherlock goosebumps and he felt stirrings he hadn't felt in so long.

Giving into his ridiculous bodily needs, Sherlock moaned as he gripped his prick. He remembered the look of determination and utter calm on the man's face when they were struggling. Sherlock ran his fingers through his own hair and licked his fingers before teasing his nipples.

He longed to wreck this man, his prey, to take him apart, to impart fear into those eyes before they clouded over with lust...all because of Sherlock. He wanted to hear the astonishment and wonder in the other man's voice again, like when he had stated his deductions.

But most of all, he wanted to hear the awe in the man's voice as Sherlock made him scream himself raw...

HE WOULD BE HIS.

Sherlock came harder than he had in...well, years. He gasped and swore as spots blurred his vision.

When he had recovered, he got up and decided to out for the night. He hadn’t fed in a couple days and was feeling peckish. His hunger was much more pronounced as a vampire, and he found he couldn’t ignore it as easily. Plus, there was a case he wanted to check up on.

 


	3. Predator & Prey

John had one of the best nights he had had in a long while. He forgot about his PTSD, the feelings of being stalked, and just enjoyed himself for once. Lestrade turned out to be a great guy, and they got along well as they traded stories. 

There were a few other policemen there, but they played darts most of the time, so John didn’t get to know them. 

He had had a few pints and was just thinking about heading home when the hairs on the back of his neck began to stand up. He heard someone sit down at their table and looked up. 

When John locked eyes with the man across the table, his heart sped up. He felt apprehensive, and his throat went dry. Belatedly he realized this was the same way he felt the last few weeks when he was alone. 

“Sherlock! You found me. This is John Watson.”

“John Watson….pleased to meet you,” the man said, staring intently into John’s eyes.

John felt on guard. He hadn’t been able to see his attacker well, but that voice, and the way this man was devouring him with his eyes, made him feel odd. This was him.

“You two know each other?" Lestrade said, feeling the palpable strangeness of the meeting. 

John waited for the other man to confirm or deny this, and suddenly he realized he was staring at Sherlock’s lips. 

“Not at all.” John’s eyes swerved to Sherlock’s and he realized what the other man said was true in any case. 

He considered telling Lestrade who it was, that he thought this was the man who attacked him. But he couldn’t seem to get his mouth to move. And for some reason, he wanted to see what this was all about and how they knew each other. 

“Lestrade do you have the information on the Sturridge case?” Sherlock said. 

Although he was talking to Lestrade, his eyes never stopped studying John, moving quickly from his eyes, to his hands, to his jumper, his hair, lips, and back to his eyes, searing in their intensity.

“I do, but not here. You know I don’t take my work home with me. And stop creeping John out, I just met him and you’re going to scare him away. He happens to be a war hero."

John became interested in the bottom of his mug.

"Oh, interesting. Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Afghanistan, how did you know?" 

Turning to John, Lestrade confided, “Sherlock just knows things. "

"Wrong! I observe Lestrade, which you could do as well if you squeezed a bit more effort out of that small brain of yours."

"Now hold on, do you want to be on this case or not? Because that can change right now." 

The two men stared at each for a few seconds before Sherlock lowered his eyes in a mild form of submission. 

"Sorry, he is a bit intense, yeah?” Lestrade said to John. 

At that John looked between the two men and forced himself to smile at Lestrade. "No problem.”

“Well I think I know who the killer is, but I need to check a few details, the quicker the better,” Sherlock said authoritatively.

Lestrade groaned. “Can’t it wait until morning?”

“Stop whinging, we can stop by the station quickly, then you may go home and do normal things,” Sherlock jumped up and made impatient movements with his hands.

“Fine, let’s go, it’s getting late.” Lestrade drained his beer and stood up. 

“Wanna split a cab, John?” 

Adrenaline flooded John’s system as he realized he would shortly be left alone. 

“Yes, that would be great,” he risked a look at Sherlock and immediately regretted it; the look Sherlock was giving him was positively feral. 

He opened the front door of the pub and they made their way outside, Sherlock hailing a cab almost immediately. As they clambered in, John tried to stay away from Sherlock, but the man organized it so John was in the middle. John could feel the man burning a hole in the side of his face and turned to confront him, at least with a look, as Lestrade gave the address to NSY.


	4. Desire Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock, John, and Lestrade go to Scotland Yard.

He hadn’t realized how close they were, or how his own heart rate increased tremendously. He could feel his artery jumping in his throat. As soon as he looked up he felt like he was being sucked into a void, where it was just him and Sherlock. 

The tension was palpable as Sherlock observed John's heartbeat with a mixture of smugness, desire and danger. With a start John realized he was focusing on his lips again and guiltily jerked his focus upward. He read amusement in those eyes, which were verdigris now. 

John had a hard time looking away but managed to do so. The cabbie had the radio tuned to a pop station. Lestrade hummed along while John tried to ignore Sherlock. After a few minutes John and Lestrade began chatting about football.

John was just beginning to feel somewhat comfortable when he felt Sherlock's hand grip the seat alongside his thigh. 

John decided to ignore it; after all what could he do? They were in tight quarters and he wasn't about to give Sherlock the satisfaction of rattling him. As Sherlock began to run his fingers along the outside of his thigh though, he began to doubt his plan. 

What was he playing at? John resolutely ignored the pressure, vowing to set the man straight when they got to NSY. 

Lestrade had asked him his opinion of Wenger, and just as he was going to answer Sherlock slid his hand towards the inside of John's thigh, stroking his pinky and ring fingers down and up, down and up, until there was a rhythm.

Before John could protest Sherlock was lengthening his reach, pausing at the apex just shy of John's cock, rubbing the inside of John's thigh with sure strokes like he was a lamp and John was the genie. He began to increase his pace. John bit back a strangled sound and addressed the DI. 

"Well he's a great fit for the club, and it looks like he'll sign on for another year or two at least." 

Satisfied he had given a decent reply, John turned his attention back to Sherlock. This is a game, John thought. He wants to embarass me, discredit me. I won't be undermined in front of the police. 

John's mind came to a screeching halt however as the pads of Sherlock's fingers began to trace slow, maddening circles, always stopping just short of the contact he was desperate for.

After that, John found holding a conversation with Lestrade difficult. Oh, he said "Ohh..." and "Yes!" at the right times, but he was no longer sure who he was talking to. 

Lestrade must gave noticed his attention was divided because they lapsed into silence for the rest of the ride. 

Now, John hadn't meant to let Sherlock's advances go this far, but it had been a while since he'd been with anyone. Add to the fact that Sherlock was fucking gorgeous and it was hard to resist. He still felt like this may be his stalker, but frankly John had always appreciated some danger. 

Despite the fact John was thinking of the queen Mum on the toilet, he was half-hard when they got to Scotland Yard. 

Lestrade slid out and beckoned him to come in. "Oh no, it's late," John said quickly. 

"Nonsense!" Sherlock said loudly. 

Lestrade continued to insist until John reluctantly got out of the cab, his jacket held carefully in front of him. 

They walked in and headed for Lestrade's office. John had a seat while Sherlock leaned against a filing cabinet. Lestrade muttered something about grabbing an evidence bag and left the room. 

As soon as they were alone Sherlock began to skulk towards John. John swallowed loudly. 

"Listen, I don't know what you're playing at. I told you in the park I'm not interested. That was you in the park, wasn't it?" John got up hastily and walked slowly backward. He realized he was stalling. 

"Don't be dull, John. Lestrade won't believe you. He trusts me." 

"So where does that leave us? Listen...you need to stop following me. I filled out a report in this very room." John's voice got a little wobbly here as he maneuvered his way behind Lestrade's desk. 

"John, are you saying you're not attracted to me? Because we both know that's not true. And your sexual history is not important. This is about me... and you."

Sherlock had John trapped against Lestrades desk; there was nowhere else to go, and they both knew it. Sherlock smiled dangerously. 

"John, I find myself in a difficult position actually...I usually can't tolerate people, or anyone, really. But I have been thinking of you since...our little run in." 

Sherlock had leaned into John's personal space and whispered the next part into John's ear, making sure to brush the lobe with his lips. 

"I can still smell you..." John shivered and looked into Sherlock's eyes. They were bright and rimmed with red and specks of gold. His pupils were large and black. 

"Who...what are you?" John whispered reverently. 

Sherlock lunged forward, running his hands up John's thighs and over his knees before pushing John's hips harshly back onto the desk. He nudged his right leg between John's legs, guiding him back. He hesitated, watching John's reaction before capturing his mouth hungrily with his own, pushing and teasing with his tongue immediately. 

John whimpered and laid back, his hands running down Sherlock's back and grasping and squeezing his pert arse. Sherlock gasped and began thrusting against John with his whole body. This prompted a rather loud moan from John.

This was the scene in front of Lestrade as he pushed open the door to his office.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Lestrade shouted. 

Sherlock licked his lips and lifted his head slowly, looking like a lion that had its dinner interrupted. 

Lestrade sputtered under the weight of Sherlock's incendiary gaze, but still managed to say: "Not here, not in Scotland Yard, and not in MY OFFICE!!!" 

This seemed to wake John up, who pushed Sherlock away and stood up, apologizing profusely all the while. 

"Oh my God! I am so sorry! I have to go!" He grabbed his jacket and fairly leapt for the door. 

Lestrade sighed and addressed Sherlock emphatically. "What the bloody hell, Sherlock!?" 

"Sex, Lestrade. I know your wife has left you again, but you are aware of its existence? " Sherlock hissed with vitriol. 

Lestrade glared and fairly threw the file at him. "Yes, but I didn't know you were! Here's the file on the murders, but I need it back soon." 

Sherlock smoothed his now crumpled suit and began to peruse the file, even though he still looked cross at being 'interrupted'. 

After a moment, Sherlock said quietly, "These victims were bitten? On the throat?" 

"Yep, two puncture marks. Like a bloody vampire. Some nut out there pretending to be Dracula. Likes blondes with blue-eyes, guys and girls." Lestrade grimaced in derision. 

But Sherlock had gotten a far away look. He suddenly had a very, very bad feeling about all this. His next thoughts were only of John's safety.


	5. A Premonition

John was breathing hard as he slipped away, walking quickly as he left NSY and hurried towards the main road to hopefully catch a cab. Jesus fuck. He had been admired before, he had been seduced before. Hell he had even been stalked for a time at Uni, but really the girl was just shy when you got down to it. This was different. This was personal, and felt very dangerous. And John thought he had never been so turned on.

He kept glancing back, not that it would help, really. He looked like an easy mark and knew it.

Despite it's purpose, Scotland Yard was not in the best of neighborhoods. John had also developed what he felt was a sixth sense. His mates claimed he had premonitions in Afghanistan, because whenever John felt ill at ease, there was sure to be a firefight later that day, even if it was the prettiest, sunniest, bluest day you had ever seen. A good day to die, they used to say.

Now he heard a cough from behind him, and tilted his head just enough to see three men, a few feet apart each, crossing the road, angling towards him and increasing their pace. One was fine, hell even two were fine with his training, but he grimaced as he calculated his odds with the addition of a third man. He slowed his pace and turned somewhat as one of them came close.

"Evening," the nearer man said.

John didn't reply, he felt the unspoken threat and was already thinking about how to take the man down.

With no reply, all false pretenses where dropped quickly, and John turned to stand his ground as they rushed him. He had his gun, but he would only use it as a last resort. He had neither the patience nor the money for a trial, but he would use it if he had to.

He all but sighed as the attack came. Goddamn his premonitions.

He blocked the first punch easily and kicked out, sweeping his legs and knocking the first man, who was quite small, on his arse. The other two men came at him at the same time, unfortunately, one from each side. He threw a left hook disabling the left opponent for a good half minute while he grappled with the other. The first man was taking his time getting up. Wimp.

He took a hard right to his cheek and tasted blood, then steeled himself as he realized he was about to be punched in the stomach. He hated it; frankly it spoke of no strength from the attacker and hurt like hell to boot. He would rather be punched in the face.

"You about done?" the first man drawled. "We want wallet, keys, watch, the usual, you arsehole. Fucked up my face."

"Your face was already fucked up, Jim," one of the men quipped.

"Don't use my name, Seb, you fuck!" Jim answered, enunciating the name and holding his jaw.

Addressing John he said, "Not bad. But cough it up. Now." His tone had turned hard.

"Okay, here," John feigned getting his wallet and instead produced his gun. "Did you want this, as well?" he said, smiling as he pointed it straight at Jim's head.

Instead of looking upset, the arsehole had the nerve to crow, "Oh! Nice. Yesssss..." in a lilting Irish accent. "That is fabulous," he added, glancing at Seb and the other man with relish. "I suppose we'll leave now, but thank you, thank you very much. That was enlightening."

John's hard gaze followed the three hooligans as they went down an alley. He waited until footsteps faded and slowly backed away. He tensed as he suddenly walked backward into a solid form.

He struggled as arms clutched his wrists until he heard the words, "As someone said to me recently, that was amazing." He turned his head just enough to recognize dark curls, luscious lips, and unnatural eyes.

Then the inevitable happened. John dropped the gun and reached back to pull Sherlock's head towards him, and heard a surprised noise followed by a growl as their lips touched. There was no hesitancy, no shyness or decency as both John and Sherlock strived for maximum dominancy, if only in the kiss they shared. John shivered and gave up the helm briefly, but bit and nipped Sherlock's full lips even as he did, just to be difficult.

Cheeky, Sherlock thought to himself.

Sherlock suddenly pulled him flush against his body and thrust his solid length against John's lower back. John moaned pitifully and that was when Sherlock pulled him roughly into a nearby alley, albeit not where his would-be muggers had gone.


	6. Scream

John struggled, but really only for show, and really only because he knew it was driving Sherlock crazy. 

Sherlock reached down and cupped the bulge in John's jeans, massaging in such a way that John began to keen without realizing it. He thrust forward for more- more aching emptiness, as Sherlock teased and took his hand away, more delicious pressure when Sherlock pushed back. Oh, Christ. He was not going to last long. 

"John....Jawwwwnnn." Sherlock rumbled as took time to lick a stripe up his neck. "That was...beautiful, brave, dangerous, I...I can't stand it." 

"Sherlock!" John responded as Sherlock's hand fumbled with both their zippers. "Oh, fuck," John whimpered as Sherlock pulled his cock out and laid it against his own, moisture glistening in the faint moonlight. 

John's head fell back against the brick wall with a thud. As Sherlock nuzzled and appropriated his neck to his liking, John had another twinge of fear, which only increased his arousal. His precome was now beading copiously.

"You're, you're a vampire!" John managed after a few tries. Sherlock hummed his approval and seemed to nod his head even as he continued to worry the thin skin overJohn's jugular. 

"Scotland Yard is just there, John," Sherlock hissed. He increased the pace of his hand on both their erections, and John was lost...so close. 

They feel into a deep, wet, messy kiss, and when John looked up there was blood on Sherlock's lips.

"But you like it! You like the danger- oh! Yes you do..." 

"If you are frightened, John..." Sherlock's blown ebony pupils stared deep into blue eyes. 

"If you want me to stop, John..." he added a twist at the end which made them both moan. 

"All you have to do is...scream..." Sherlock's face was a mix of fascination and ecstacy as they both came simultaneously.

"Oh fuck, oh god oh god oh god oh god PLEASE!!!!! God Christ yes!" John was muttering at first, but his volume had increased by the end. 

For his part, Sherlock was beyond words, trying to remember every look on John's face, and every aspect of his and John's mind blowing orgasm as it rocked them both. His face fell forward into the crook of John's neck, and he opened his mouth wide without thought, lost in ecstacy.

John had lost all grip on reality, so when his eyes rolled back in his head and his vision whited out from the force of his orgasm, he was not surprised. After a minute or so, he realized there was no one pressing on him anymore, and he opened his eyes. He was alone. He looked around and winced as he felt a sting on his neck. He tentatively reached up and drew his hand away. It was covered in blood.


	7. Goodness

When John got back home, he quickly shrugged off his clothes and jumped in his shower, turning the water to hot, making sure to wash the blood off his face. At the moment he was mad. Livid actually. Which is not how he usually felt post-coitus, but this was different. 

It wasn't that he felt taken advantage of or victimized per say, but there was something about his encounters with Sherlock that bothered him. Maybe it was because he left so abruptly tonight, or didn't bother to ask permission in the first damn place. He sighed in frustration as he got out of the shower and toweled off. 

Again, John was not a weakling and had definitely given his okay whether or not it was verbal, so he couldn't blame Sherlock for acting on his instincts. John hadn't had a relationship like this since Uni, and surely never this well, hot... 

Relationships like this usually didn't work out for him because deep down John was a nurturer, a caregiver, and yes, he developed emotional attachments to the people he shagged. Even vampires, apparently. He needed a connection, and had always enjoyed the sex as well as the pillow talk and the cuddles. Now that it appeared he was only going to be getting half of it, he felt insulted or not good enough somehow. 

The fact that the realization of Sherlock's vampirism was not more of a problem than the fact they had sex or wasn't more of a concern to John worried him. Was he in shock? He had no other symptoms. Was he in denial? He searched his mind and suddenly understood that he had known the truth since their first interation. The whole thing was so bizarre and supernatural feeling, how he hadn't felt him take his gun away, the way his eyes burned red, his unnatural strength. He hadn't known he was a vampire at first, but he knew there was something very different about Sherlock. 

John turned the lights out and fell into bed, exhausted. He realized later that he was no longer afraid of the dark.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock, for his part, felt positively energized and animalistic after he left John. He only had a couple hours before sunrise and spent it pacing the park, thinking about John and what they had shared. 

He had tasted the blood on his lips as soon as he left and stifled a groan of lust, interest, and finally dread. John's blood! Shit, when did he do that? He tore through his mind palace until he found the exact moment it happened, when he had let his true nature escape. He thought about it and came to the conclusion that John couldn't have lost much blood. Sherlock had really only gotten a taste, but damn, was that taste good. 

Vanilla, cinnamon, a certain rustiness of course and underneath it all something only John. Sherlock stood up straight and made a face as he realized what it was. John Watson tasted like wholeness. 

Goodness. 

Humanity. 

Sherlock was immediately disgusted at these sentimental thoughts. What rubbish! It was true a heightened sense of taste, smell, and synethesia came with vampirism. But goodness?? Wholesomeness? 

He chuckled, but still felt uneasy, because he had never been wrong about a taste before, and he had never tasted something so...delicious. He had a harder time going to sleep than usual. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

John passed the rest of the week trying to put the events of the other night out of his mind. He felt like a jilted lover. He still felt uneasy walking the streets, and made sure to get inside at night. His feelings of being watched continued but eventually became routine. When he did get that tendril of fear along his spine, he chalked it up to the fact that he knew what lurked in the dark, unlike most people. 

While he was busy sulking in front of the telly almost two weeks later, John got irritated with himself. Was he never going to go out again at night? He was a soldier, for God's sake. Grinding his teeth, he called up his boss, Sarah, and asked her out for Friday night. She accepted happily, sounding a little surprised. 

When John got a premonition Friday afternoon, he shook it off.


	8. Cain & Abel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sarah go to dinner and he discovers her true nature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are the best!! More Johnlock next chapter, but this is necessary! Kudos and comments = love!!

John ended up taking Sarah to a nice posh restaurant that she had mentioned, which turned out to be more expensive than John would have liked. They were seated outside, with low stone walls and white and red roses bordering the outside area. The area was lit by fire by large tiki torches that were spaced about 4 feet apart along the perimeter. Beyond the low walls was a green space and gardens on the restaurant's property. As the sun set, the flames were turned down to darken the restaurant, until the area beyond the torches was pitch black.

John ordered grilled fish and Sarah got pasta primavera. John had mused that this was a strange place for a first date, but it would have been rude for him to say no once she had suggested it. He knew he would have to suggest something much cheaper for the next time.

He was heartened however that this had been a good decision as he turned towards his date. The dress was erring towards formal, with only couples or groups of business blokes making up the clientele that John could see. This was not a place to bring kids.

Sarah looked lovely and was wearing a low cut red dress, black pumps and a black and silver amulet which dipped towards her breasts, which John was having a hard time tearing his eyes from. John for his part had decided on a nice blue Oxford with slacks, a bit nicer than he usually wore to work.

They ordered wine, Merlot, and she toyed with the stem of her glass, giving him a coy smile.

"You look beautiful," John said.

She blushed and giggled. "Oh John. You are so sweet. Always a charmer."

They ate dinner and talked about their patients, coworkers, and new medical procedures. When they had finished dinner they shared a chocolate mousse cake. John noticed the place was really clearing out, and checking his watch saw it was late.

He had been contemplating the pitch black darkness of the garden when he thought he saw movement.

"I think there is someone on the lawn," he said, straightening up and straining to hear.

Sarah laughed at this and called the waiter over, saying "Your soldier instincts again, John."

Sarah ordered another glass of wine, a deep red Mourvedre. When the waiter left John repeated his observation, but Sarah had scooted closer, and gave him an incredible view of her cleavage that temporarily cleared his thoughts. She begun rubbing her foot along the back of his calf.

Putting the newly received wine glass to his lips, she smiled and whispered, "Sip."

John was caught up in the moment and took the time to really experience the wine. It was a deep blood-colored red, dry and smoky, with notes of clove, black pepper, blackberry, rose, and earth. The wine was also very alcoholic he noticed. This was the last thought John had before blacking out.

* * *

 

John woke up slowly, rolling his head slowly from side to side. He felt like he had been hit in the back of the skull. His vision was blurry and so for a few minutes could only focus on what was right in front of his eyes: green felt. He tried to remember what happened, but could only remember drinking the wine, then nothing. He wondered if Sarah was safe.

As he tried to sit up he realized he was tied down. Slowly his mind cleared and he began to take in his surroundings. It looked like he was in a basement of sorts, a rec room. He was tied to a pool table from his hands and his feet as if he was being quartered.

He appeared to be alone but felt watched, but what else was new? He tried pulling at the fastenings but they were very tight and he had very little room to move his hands. Wondering what he had done to deserve this, and mumbling something about a "bloody date," he spent his time taking in his surroundings and looking for anything he could use to his advantage.

Besides the pool table in the center of the huge room, there was a set of stairs, leading both down and up. There was a massive LCD TV in one corner with dark leather chairs and a plush couch. Mirrors, candles, a bar made of black marble complete with a large collection of spirits took up the other walls. Hanging up, John thought he spotted a white tiger skin and a lion's head hanging over a Gothic fireplace. He eyed the fireplace poker with interest. He took note of the vaulted ceiling, the floor with its plush burgundy carpet, and how exceptionally clean everything was.

After about 45 minutes he heard some commotion downstairs and closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep.

"Really beautiful scar tissue. You'll see."

John's eyes flew open as he heard Sarah's voice. What the hell? He quickly closed his eyes again but his mind was racing. Was this a joke? A prank?

Before he could think much further he felt a hand run along his arm as someone came to stand beside him. He tried to even out his breath to appear as if he was still unconscious.

"John...Now John, we know you're awake. We saw you on the cameras," came Sarah's voice.

Well, bugger. He opened his eyes and looked at Sarah. She looked the same except for an intense, mischevious look in her eyes. Beside her stood a man in a Westwood suit with a skull and crossbones tie. His eyes were very dark and piercing, like pieces of shiny onyx.

"Johnny! We meet again. You do remember me, don't you?" the man crooned as his gaze moved up and down John's body. Finally his eyes met John's and he realized where he knew him.

"Hey, you tried to mug me," John said with confusion, looking from Sarah to the man.

"Good! Very good! James Moriarty, at your service." There was that Irish lilt John recalled from their first encounter.

He turned his head towards Sarah incredulously. "Is this a joke?!"

"No, afraid not, John. I haven't been completely honest with you, but neither have you, it seems. For instance, I didn't know you had become acquainted with some of our vampire friends in town."

John furrowed his brow in confusion. "What does that have to do with..." he trailed off as he took in the pointy white tips just showing over their lips. He swallowed.

"Very observant, John. I was wondering when you would notice." Sarah smiled baring her teeth more fully.

"Oh bloody hell," John muttered.

Moriarty positively giggled with delight. "Bloody indeed, John! Now that the introductions, or should I say re-introductions are over, the real fun can begin."

"What are you going to do?" John was glad he was able to keep his nerves under control, and that his voice wasn't wavering.

"Straight to the point. I like that in you, John. To think, if Sarah here hadn't noticed that you had met Sherlock..." here he spat Sherlock's name as if it were despicable, "...and if you hadn't left a paper trail with the Met, none of this would be happening!"

He began to pet Sarah's hair lovingly, staring deep into her eyes like a lover.

"But she couldn't help but notice! You stink of him, John. He must have marked you, but where? Let's take a look shall we?"

When Moriarty reached forJohn's collar he cringed and shrank back. This was when John saw just a touch of Moriarty's wrath. His face contorted with rage, his face seemed to blacken, and he back handed John viciously.

Moriarty closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again the pleasant facade was back. John saw stars and felt a trickle of blood from the corner of his eye.

"Oh, a bleeder. Shy are we? I suppose Sarah can take a look if you prefer." Moriarty said this as if he were doing John a huge favor, and looked at Sarah imploringly.

She grinned and moved to sit on the pool table, stroking John's face. She wiped her fingers through the blood and licked her fingers, before offering Moriarty a taste.

"Mmmm! Like vanilla bean ice cream!" Moriarty crowed.

"Delicious," Sarah agreed, grinning.

"Stop, please. I don't know what you're talking about," John forced out. He tried to get his breath back under control after being hit.

At this Moriarty and Sarah shared an amused look and Sarah burst out laughing.

"Now John, are you telling me you let him fuck you, but you didn't kiss? Like a whore!" Moriarty smiled widely.

"Naughty boy. Did he bite your femoral artery? We can check there instead if you would like. But we know you're a gentleman, John, so surely there was a kiss. Shelock marked you, yes? He is a very possessive vampire. But then, we all are."

Sarah pulled John's collar down roughly, scratching him with her nails, and traced what was left of Sherlock's bite with her fingernails.

"What do you want with me?" John had recovered from the slap and was more angry now than anything. The more he thought about Sarah deceiving him, the angrier he got. And the more John saw of Moriarty, the more insane he seemed.

"Why, just to keep you long enough for Sherlock to know we have his toy. Then we are going to have a bit of fun. Do you like hunting, John?"

John hesitated in terror as he processed Moriarty's words, and Jim seemed delighted with his reaction.

"Is that a no? Well that's okay. What about being hunted instead? Because I think you are a natural." Moriarty stepped forward and ran a pointy, long fingernail down the center of John's shirt, yanking it in half.

"Sevile Row, John? Lovely." Jim brought the shirt to his face and inhaled deeply. As an afterthought, he mopped up the rest of the blood on John's face with it.

"Ah! Yes that will do. Smells sooo good, John. And that's all they'll need to be going on, don't you think?"

"Who- who needs it to go on?" John stuttered. He felt like this was a dream, everything was so bizarre.

At this Moriarty smiled wickedly. Turning to Sarah, he said, "I think it's time he met Cain and Abel, don't you?"

Sarah began laughing, and, turning, gave an order to someone who John hadn't noticed before that was guarding the door. They were standing behind him, manning the stairs so he couldn't see them well, he only heard Sarah mutter something in a foreign language. John frowned as his mind supplied the word 'Hebrew'.

Sarah came back to the pool table and touched John's arm. "You like dogs right, John?"


	9. Bearers of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I am being mean to John! But that just means I will be really good to him in the next chapters. Mucho Johnlock coming up next! There is slight animal abuse in this chapter, but as you will see they are evil dogs. Not that that makes it okay!!

What John saw next he would never fully be able to describe to anyone. Two of the largest, most vicious dogs he had ever seen came into the room. They looked like a cross between a Mastiff and a Chow with the height of a Great Dane.  Their eyes glowed steadily, reflecting the light and at times looked red and sometimes green.  When their eyes settled on John he got a cold feeling in his chest: sorrow, helplessness, desolation, hatred.  He found he could not look away.

They were black but they had highlights of grey and brown in their hair, and their coats were grimy with blood and dirt. They had large canines which hung over their bottom lip, and were dripping a mixture of saliva and blood.  The air turned foul as they neared John: they stank like rotting flesh, like death. He tried not to panic as the hounds approached him, smelling deeply and baring their fangs

"These are my babies, John. They are pleased to make your acquiantance. This is Cain, and this is Abel. They bicker quite a bit, just like in the Bible!" At this Moriarty smiled at his joke.

"What are they?" John managed to get out after a few tries.

Moriarty's lips curled into a thin smile. "Hellhounds.  Now, I know what you're thinking.  This can't be real!  But, until recently, you thought vampires weren't real.  They really are sweethearts."

At this Cain looked up and gave a low growl.  What started out as a hissing rumble turned into a word to John's terrified astonishment: "Nooooo...."

John blanched further and considered letting himself pass out. He was so scared at this point that he thought if he really indulged in his fear he could drop unconscious, thus missing all this. But the practical and soldierly sides of him insisted he did not want to fall unconconscious with this lot unless he had to. 

Abel's eyes burned into his. "Impressive, John...." Abel's vocalizations sounded more like fingernails down a blackboard, but John could not resist a full body shudder as the beast said his name.

"John, did you know that Hitler loved dogs? He had several," Sarah walked over to Cain and began to stroke its head. The animal let out a rumble that John could feel in his toes. "He thought they were so smart in fact that there was a whole program developed by the Nazis to train dogs to talk. They did experiments on humans and dogs, slicing open their brains to see if they could transfer speech capabilities from humans to canines. Turns out, they were successful to a degree." 

Here Moriarty leaned closer to John and began petting his hair.

"I guess you can imagine what, or rather who, they fed these experimental dogs during the war," Moriarty smiled as realization dawned in John's eyes. "That's right. They have a definite preference for blonde hair and blue eyes."

"You killed those people, the case Sherlock is investigating," John said with horror.

"Well yes, and was interrupted during transport of the last two victims. Which means these guys are very, very hungry."

Cain and Abel began jawing over John's jeans.  When they began licking his hands he closed his eyes.

Moriarty giggled with excitement as John tried in vain to pull away.

"So here's the deal Johnny -no more messing around. Now that the hellhounds have your scent, they will always find you.  Legend says the third time you meet them you will die.  We're going to see if that's true.  Isn't that fabulous?!?!" He dissolved into giggles again.

"Why?"John managed.

"Why?" Moriarty repeated the word as if it were foreign. "I don't get along with Sherlock, and you're his toy, so it just feels right, you know?  If I can teach him a lesson, maybe he'll stop going to the Met and fucking up my operations!" He had begun the sentence in a normal voice, but was screaming by the end.

"But they still have a bit of the old dog in them, I'm afraid. You know, chasing anything that moves like dumb animals."

At this Abel growled and raised his hackles.

Moriarty rolled his eyes and flapped a hand at the implied threat. "Oh please! I feed you. I am your master!" He reared back and kicked the animal in the ribs, and John felt sympathy for it as it yelped. It stopped growling and focused on the floor in a sign of submissiveness.

"As I was saying they enjoy a chase, and since I am a good master and want to give them something to strive for..." Moriarty directed that part towards the hellhounds..."I am going to give you a 24 hour headstart."  

Abruptly he produced a long Bowie knife. Suddenly shifting his weight onto the pool table, Moriarty held the tip above John's heart. He quickly carved a shallow heart with an arrow through it and an 'M' in the center. John cried out but stilled when Moriarty held the blade to his cheekbone. Moriarty quickly cut his bonds, nicking John's right palm in the process. He gripped his hair ruthlessly and pulled him off the pool table, shoving him onto the floor. 

John let out a whimper as Cain and Abel came over to smell his neck and the wound on his chest.

"That's enough boys," Moriarty called out in a sing-song voice. "Wouldn't want to ruin your appetite."

"Yessss Bosss...." Cain growled. 

"Remember John, I'll give you a 24-hour headstart with loverboy. Then, these two, and a couple of their siblings friends will come looking.  And then you're dog meat!"

John saw Sarah pick up a club, saw it come down, then saw no more.


	10. Mycroft's Manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is whisked away to Mycroft's home by the Holmes brothers.

It was not hard to find Dr. Watson. He had been dumped on a dock on the Thames. Mycroft had been able to find out from CCTV and certain other informants where Moriarty had dropped him.

When Sherlock had showed up at his office, saying simply: "Find him now," Mycroft had considered arguing and trying to talk his brother out of this madness. Sherlock in love with a human? Absurd.

But when he had looked at Sherlock, standing in his office, pleading, if not with his words then with his eyes, he paused. Sherlock hadn't come to him for years now. For anything. He also saw that if he refused to help him Sherlock would try to rescue the doctor himself, and likely get himself killed for good or held prisoner.

"Come along," Mycroft had responded. They took a black Bentley with blacked out windows from the garage and left at once. They didn't bother bringing backup; the fewer people that knew where they were going, the better. Mycroft's assistant Anthea drove quickly and expertly through the London streets, heading towards the docks. Sherlock fidgeted nervously, and he sniped back and forth with Anthea about the best way to go until Mycroft silenced them.

When they found John he was propped up along a pier unconscious, and looked like hell. He couldn't have been there long because no one had robbed him yet. Sherlock rushed over, scooped him up, and carefully laid him in the backseat before taking in his wounds. What he saw made him hiss angrily. The wound on his chest looked painful, and as he cleaned the blood away with a cloth the 'M' carved into the skin became apparently. Sherlock closed his eyes.

"Sherlock, you will have to clean that very carefully if you want it to heal. It's not like a wound made by a human."

"I know that!" Sherlock exclaimed angrily. "Where are we going?"

"My house in Oxshott."

"Must we?" Sherlock looked like he might throw a fit, but Mycroft realized a lot of that was simply him worrying about the doctor.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, and after a staring contest Sherlock slumped back.

"Fine, I suppose it's close and secure."

Mycroft snorted and muttered "Indeed."

For the rest of the ride Sherlock smoothed John's hair back from his forehead and checked him for more injuries. They arrived at Mycroft's manor and drove into the underground garage. Mycroft ordered his men to stay back as Sherlock carried John to the elevator. They went up three floors before the elevator dinged.

The doors opened into an hallway, decadence apparent in the choice of colors and textures used for the carpet, the walls, and the fixtures. Mycroft showed them to the bedroom at the end of the main hallway.

The room was very large, with a king bed covering one side of the room covered in silk sheets and a plush purple comforter. Mycroft crossed to turn the fireplace on while Sherlock laid John on the bed.

With a nod, and an ominous "Later," Mycroft swept out of the room. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Sherlock sat beside John on the bed and began removing the remains of John's tattered shirt. He called for a basin of water and basic first aid supplies to be sent to the room. When they arrived Sherlock began washing the wound over John's heart, as well as the cut on his face and hand. He couldn't help the low growl that escaped his throat as he inspected Moriarty's handiwork.

When Sherlock had finished cleaning and disinfecting John's wounds, he went over to the small bar and poured them each a brandy. Sherlock then used the loo with it's sparkling white marble shower and jacuzzi tub and gold fixtures. He thought about showering quickly, but decided he should be near John when he woke, since he had been so traumatized and wouldn't know where he was.

It didn't take long before John's eyes fluttered open. He tensed, but as soon as he saw Sherlock he relaxed - somewhat. "Sherlock," he said thickly. "Where are we?"

"We are at Mycroft's ridiculous house in Oxshott," he nodded towards the rest of the room, a show of grandeur and power if there ever was one. John's lifted his head and his eyes widened as he took in the bedroom, then winced at the slight movement.

Sherlock handed him his brandy and watched as John's adam's apple pulsed with each swallow. He sipped his then said, "How are you feeling, John?"

John sighed and taking in his chest, replied with "Like hell. Everything hurts."

Sherlock nodded. "The brandy and parametacol will help your head. As for the rest of it, your wounds have been disinfected. Do you remember what happened? I was there, as you may have noticed, but couldn't find a way into the basement once you were drugged," Sherlock supplied.

John nodded in deep thought, then related his kidnapping and what he knew about Sarah, Moriarty, and the hellhounds. "He said I have 24 hours," John murmured. "I still can't believe it about Sarah."

"I should have told you, but I had no way of knowing she was in league with Moriarty. I can't just out every working vampire." Sherlock said.

John's brow was furrowed in concentration. "What can I do?" he asked helplessly.

"Leave that to Mycroft and me. Right now I am more worried about your wounds."

"This will scar," John said angrily, gesturing to the cupid's bow and the M over his heart.

Sherlock tipped his head to one side with a "Hmmm...not necessarily." John raised his eyebrows at Sherlock.

"Vampire saliva has healing characteristics. I could heal it if you are comfortable with me..." he trailed off and gestured between the two of them.

"What?" 

"It would involve me...um, licking your wounds." Although they had shared a sexual encounter in a darkened alley, this seemed more intimate and would take perhaps more trust on John's part. 

"How does that work?" 

"Vampire saliva holds certain amino acids humans lack with quick healing properties." 

"Oh. Well I guess that would be fine." Sherlock nodded and picked up John's hand which had been cut. "It will sting for just a second, then the anesthetic properties will make it feel numb, and then pleasurable during the healing process." 

John had raised his eyes a the word 'pleasurable' but stayed silent. 

Sherlock raised John's hand to his mouth. He inspected the cut and gave a hum of disapproval. He began by licking the length of the cut, cleaning it even deeper than he had previously. John inhaled at the sting which soon went away. 

John watched as Sherlock closed his eyes and went into a light trance. He cradled the wound, licking and sucking. As John watched, the cut seemed to fade by degrees, so that he couldn't tell the exact moment when the cut was healed. It was like watching a flower bloom, or a tomato ripen. 

Sherlock pulled away slightly to show a breathless John his healed hand. A pleasant burn started to emanate from his palm, which then bloomed into a sustained feeling of pleasure. It spread up to his fingers, and down his arm. Sherlock was watching him as the feeling overtook him. Sherlock started sucking on his fingers, one by one, which weren't hurt, but it felt amazing just the same. This would have been sensuous, vampire powers or no, but with the added vampire compounds in the saliva John couldn't help a moan escaping. 

Sherlock grinned, and was obviously not unaffected either as he pushed the heel of his palm to adjust himself. He moved to John's face, where Moriarty had slapped him, and repeated the process. John found it to be just as pleasurable, with just enough saliva to cover the wound but not make it messy. Also he was able to inhale Sherlock's scent- a mix of sandalwood and burning charcoal that was intoxicating. John carded his hands through Sherlock's hair as he laid down more fully beside John during his ministrations.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright I know I am evil!! The rest of this lovely scene will be posted very soon!!


	11. Bloodletting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are the best!! Here's some smut for you!

When he was done with the cut on John's face, he moved to his lips, running his tongue along the outside teasingly before John's hand on the back of his head forced him deeper. Sherlock groaned lowly and moved to cover John more completely, pushing his cock against John's thigh. 

The warm wet heat of John's mouth complimented his cool kisses, and he licked and traced John's lips and mouth with growing enthusiasm. Without warning Sherlock moved to John's chest, causing a small moue of loss from the doctor. 

Sherlock smirked and covered the heart-shaped wound there with his mouth. This one hurt a little more, but at the same time, John thought, it felt fantastic to have Sherlock's mouth working on his chest, the dark brown curls tickling him while the rest of him writhed and rutted against John. 

John was getting dizzy and felt he might come right then and there with his trousers on. His cut had healed and that particular fuzzy warmth associated with Sherlock's saliva was spreading through his chest...up his neck and down below his belly. Sherlock seemed to sense the tension of the approaching orgasm, and moving away from John's chest he traveled down, licking the happy trail leading beneath John's pants which were peaking out above his trousers. 

They locked eyes then; John's were dark blue, like a deep ocean. They had bits of hazel when the light hit them right. Sherlock's had taken on that reddish tint with flecks of gold that John had noticed before. John began breathing even faster when he noticed the sharp teeth just peaking out of Sherlock's mouth. The vampire could tell it had more to do with lust than fear, although they were not mutually exclusive. 

"Up," he commanded hoarsely, and removed the remaining clothes when John lifted his hips. 

"And you," John muttered, pulling on Sherlock's bespoke clothing. 

When they were both naked Sherlock turned his attention back to John's body, where he just barely scraped his incisors along his stomach, inner thighs, and calves. John could feel that the skin was barely if ever cut open but it didn't hurt, rather the vampire was injuring him the slightest bit so he could admire the red lines he made and then heal the wound immediately. The benefits of this action were threefold. John felt the pleasure associated with a vampire's healing continue to race through his veins. He felt unstoppable and incredibly sexy at the same time as the elixir mingled with his blood. This only heightened the sexual experience for John. 

For Sherlock's part, he got a taste and smell of the human's intoxicating blood, however small it was. Biting was sometimes part of sex for his kind, and mostly between two vampires. If the vampire bit a human during sex, they could give into the bloodlust and kill or turn them. Sherlock of course did not want this to happen to John, but he couldn't help just getting a taste of the brilliant, vital garnet-colored liquid coursing through John's veins. He constantly smelled John during this process as well: vanilla, gun oil, tea, and now, Sherlock himself. Which explains the third reason for the light biting: possession. Any vampire or beast as well as some enterprising humans would know John was his, and his alone. 

Finally Sherlock moved to the thick erect cock in front of him. He licked from root to tip and planted kisses all along the length and the inside of John's thighs. John shivered with barely restrained anticipation. Seeing the tips of Sherlock's teeth as he dragged them very softly along his cock made him stop breathing. 

Sherlock smiled around him, and pulling off said, "You do love danger, John, almost to a fault. I wouldn't trust another vampire to suck you off. I can feel your pulse in my mouth...and it's very enticing." 

At this bit of information John whimpered and held Sherlock's shoulders like a dying man (which he was, wasn't he?). Sherlock swallowed John whole, keeping their eyes locked. John couldn't think straight anymore; this had to be the hottest thing he had ever seen. Soon he was babbling and clutching Sherlock's hair roughly. 

He sat up a bit to watch as Sherlock hollowed his cheeks and increased his pace. "Fuck!" John swore loudly as he thrust into the vampire's mouth, a creature which could end his life at any moment. His sounds were ones of disbelief and sheer pleasure, and he came moaning the vampire's name. Sherlock gave a low growl of appreciation as he swallowed pulse after pulse of pure John Watson, until the doctor at last fell back. 

He felt intoxicated as Sherlock tucked them back under the covers, spooning him from behind. John immediately wanted to reciprocate, feeling Sherlock's hard length against him. Sherlock refused, saying, "Later. You need to rest now." 

It was true, John was incredibly tired. The feelings of an orgasm given by a vampire were heady. Add to that the rapid healing processes that had just occurred, Sherlock's brand of intensity (thrall?), his drugging and following concussion, and the interrogation and abuse he endured at the hands of Moriarty, Sarah, and the hellhounds. John didn't protest as Sherlock turned out the light. 

John didn't notice when Sherlock was summoned to Mycroft's office soon after.


	12. A Plan

John woke up a couple hours later feeling safe and happy. He moved his hand to the spot on the bed where Sherlock should have been. He frowned with his eyes still closed when he realized no one was there. 

Sitting up and blinking sleepily, John ran a hand through his hair and surveyed the room. He took in the dying fire and glanced at his watch. Either very late at night or very early in the morning. John got up, visited the loo and got dressed. He was still tired and weirded out by everything that had happened. He would feel better if he found out where Sherlock had gotten off to. 

Opening the door quietly, John tried to retrace his steps to the front of the house, glancing every now and then in open doors. He felt himself gawking again at the granduer of the place, and after getting sidetracked more than once, he shook himself mentally and refocused on finding Sherlock. He heard voices when he neared a tall set of double doors near the bottom of a staircase. 

"Ah, John, do come in," Mycroft purred from a large desk set back against the far wall. A large window was beyond the desk, and John saw a flash of distant thunder. He looked around for Sherlock and found him standing near the fireplace, regarding him intently. 

"Was wondering where you were," John said as he came over to stand by Sherlock. He thought he heard Mycroft scoff, but he ignored it in favor of looking at Sherlock, who had a very tender look on his face and a small smile. 

He took John's hand and led him to a burgundy leather couch facing Mycroft's desk. Sherlock seemed very protective of him, fussing over John as they got comfortable. After a moment's thought he put a lanky arm around the doctor and glared at this brother. 

John watched as Sherlock and Mycroft had a conversation composed entirely of raised hairlines, shifty eyes and twitching mouths. He almost started laughing, but in the end Mycroft looked far too smug and knowing, and Sherlock too irritated. 

"I see you and Sherlock have...settled in, John. You are the picture of health," Mycroft said with a shark like smile. 

John turned red and before he could think of something to say, Sherlock slammed a fist down on the desk. 

"Don't," Sherlock looked affronted now, and even Mycroft looked surprised by his reaction. 

"Yes, well...we need to talk about how we will get out of this mess. Sherlock seems rather taken with you, Doctor, and as such I will extend to you any protection and assets that may assist. While this is a very stable structure, there are too many windows for you to either look through and/or the hellhounds to come through. In addition the forest to the north is not ideal." 

"Much too close to the properties," Sherlock agreed. 

"And so what do we do?" John asked. 

"Well obviously we can't stay here. Mycroft will have some armed guards accompany us to my estate, which is much more...denfensible. Vampires are most vulnerable during the day, as we are usually in repose, but for that matter so are hellhounds. They feed on darkness and fear. StilI, if we travel by day they won't be expecting it. Therefore that is what we will do. That said, I wouldn't be surprised by an attempt on your life en route, since I imagine Moriarty has thought of all this. Once we can make it to my house, we will be much more prepared for hellhounds and whatever else Moriarty sends our way. It is fortified, both physically and spiritually." 

John took all this in slowly. Turning to both of them, he cleared his throat and said, "I appreciate everything you're doing, but what are the chances I will be alive in a week? Will I be confined indoors forever? Will Moriarty ever leave me alone?" 

Sherlock and Mycroft exchanged worried glances, then Sherlock gave him a deeply troubled look. 

But what he said was, "Yes," while running his hands through John's short hair.

John sighed and focused on the warmth of the fire and Sherlock's hand on his nape as the two vampire brothers agreed and disagreed about logistics: when they would leave, what they needed, what was extraneous. At some point he must have dozed off. 

In his dream he felt strangely weightless. He knew Sherlock was near because he could smell him, feel his soft touches and cool skin, and because he had an overwhelming feeling of being loved and in love. It was the happiest dream John could remember having. 

Just before he faded to black, he heard the whispering of fabric as Sherlock laid him in their bed. Soft lips gently caressed his own. He heard a whispered declaration of love, and as he felt Sherlock lay beside him, it occurred to him he wasn't dreaming at all.


	13. The Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting ready to go to Sherlock’s.

John woke again soon after daylight. He was by nature not a morning person but the military had made him one out of repetition. Despite the strangeness of the house, he followed his morning ritual and took a long, hot shower followed by a quick breakfast of toast and fresh brewed tea.

When he was getting dressed Sherlock came into the room. He immediately went over to John and looked him over, running a hand across his chest.

“Everything feeling okay?” he looked tired, but John knew this was about when Sherlock would usually go to sleep, so he wasn’t overly concerned.

“Yeah,” John cleared his throat from lack of use. “What’s the plan?”

“We’re leaving soon. It should take a few hours to get to my place. Since its daylight, we should be left alone, but just in case we will have a bodyguard.”

John followed Sherlock outside and into the courtyard. The vehicle they were taking was a large black Jeep, with completely blacked out windows. Even the front windshield had some special coating on it. John guessed this was due to vampires’ aversion to sunlight. 

Belatedly John considered how scary it would be to travel in a car, in the daylight, if you couldn’t get out of it without suffering burns, like Sherlock. What if they had a wreck? He was taking an awful lot of risks for him.

Sherlock, who had been watching John’s face, grabbed his hand and squeezed. “I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? We could go tonight. Or another way. By air?” John said, care evident in his voice.

“No, we will go this morning. We will just have to be vigilant,” he led him towards the SUV.  "This is Mia and Colin. They are going to accompany us.”

John shook hands first with Mia, a petite but lithe woman. She looked like she was in her 30s, with straight blond hair and brown eyes. She was wearing some tough looking pants- like the type you might ride a motorcycle in, a plain grey t-shirt, and a black leather jacket.

Her face was guarded but once John made eye contact, she seemed to open up. John tried to pull his hand free after a moment but she held fast, muttering something under her breath as she stared at him.

“Incantations,” Sherlock supplied. “She’s a seer, clairvoyant, psychic, what have you. Having her around will give us a little extra protection.”

"Oh,” John said.

Finally Mia let go and took a deep breath, like someone who had just surfaced from being underwater.

“It’s…hard to see, which usually means there are other seers interfering. We should have safe passage, after that it’s difficult to know yet. There seems to be several factors besides just the hellhounds in the equation. I’ll take another reading later tonight.”

John nodded his thanks and turned to the man, who was much taller than John and thickly muscled. He stuck his hand out and shook John’s hand surprisingly gently.

“I’m your bodyguard,” he said simply, but John could see him taking in everything about John, about Sherlock, and about the vehicle. John guessed that was part of his job, to know who he was protecting. He wondered if either of them were vampires, but wasn’t sure if it was rude to ask. Either of them could fit the bill.

Meanwhile Sherlock was standing with Mycroft a little ways away. They were watching the staff load the SUV. Several duffle bags of clothes, food, coolers, and other necessities were organized carefully; such that much more was put in than John originally thought would fit.

He noticed a notebook and two texts: _A Predilection for Vampirism_ , and _A Field Guide to Demons, Spirits,  and Fairies_ , which made him raise his eyebrows and look at Sherlock.

“I need to do research,” was all he said.

John spied the weapons, on top and easily accessible. There were several cases of what looked like some kind of guns, but he also saw a couple oddly shaped weapon cases.

“We are bringing several stakes and a crossbow outfitted with silver tipped bows,” Colin supplied, seeing John’s gaze.

“Oh. We expecting a party, then?” was all John could say. If he was to be honest with himself, seeing the weapons only reminded him he could be a dead man soon and made him uneasy. He was a soldier, but he wasn’t stupid enough to not feel fear. Fear as a motivator was an important thing, and it had gotten him out of more than one deadly situation.

Colin huffed a laugh but said, “Only if it’s absolutely necessary. You’re in a good position. "With a bodyguard and two vampires in the vehicle you should be safe,” he saw John look at him with interest out of the corner of his eye, and momentarily flashed his canines, leaving no doubt as to who the other vampire was besides Sherlock.

John nodded quickly.

“Once you get to Sherlock’s you will be untouchable. Look at it this way: you have both the Holmes brothers and all the power they possess protecting you. You must be very important,” Colin smiled.

John heard the crunch of shoes on gravel behind him. Sherlock encircled his arms around John’s middle and pulled him flush to his chest.

“Very important,” Sherlock agreed in a rumble that made John shiver. John couldn’t help but smile at the protectiveness. He pulled Sherlock’s arms even tighter and turned his head slightly so Sherlock could whisper in his ear.

“You’re mine,” Sherlock purred. John was beginning to think this could be a long trip.

Before things could get too out of hand, John felt more than heard someone else join the group.

“Ahem,” Mycroft said, looking pointedly at the pair. Sherlock let John go and began to pout, which made John laugh. Mycroft ignored them both.

“Every precaution has been taken," Mycroft continued. “The SUV has been outfitted with several booby traps, for lack of a better phrase. If you follow me I will show you how to activate them.”

John tried to suppress a grin as he started imagining himself in a 007 movie.

They trudged over to the back of the SUV.  Mycroft pulled out what looked like several small remotes with silver buttons. He gave one each to the Sherlock, John, Mia, and Colin.

“Stand back please,” Mycroft sniffed importantly. John bit his lip to keep from smiling when Sherlock rolled his eyes. Mycroft pushed the first button, and out from behind the SUV shot a spool of barbed wire which then detached.

“For the tires,” Mycroft said needlessly. “You have 2000 meters to use as you wish.” He pressed another button and the barbed wire disappeared under the carriage. Another button triggered small jets to materialize on every side of the vehicle.

“These spray holy water, and I will skip that step for all of our sakes if you don’t mind. They are most handy for any attackers on foot.  Lastly, and I won’t show you this one either, the entire outside can become highly reflective by utilizing this button,” he pointed to the top right of the remote.

“What would that do?” John asked.

“Essentially one big mirror.  Very effective against vampires. Simple and ingenious,” Sherlock grinned a terrible grin.

“In addition, we will give you air support until you reach Sherlock’s house,” announced Mycroft. At this John’s mouth dropped open.

“The helicopters will be varying distances from the vehicle. They may be of service offensively, but may be best employed as additional transport if something happens to your primary vehicle.”

When it was clear he was finished explaining, Sherlock walked to his brother. After a tense moment he stuck out his hand.

“You have outdone yourself, Mycroft.”

Mycroft seemed surprised but recovered quickly. “I hope you know what you’re doing, little brother,” he muttered.

“I do,” Sherlock answered steadily.

Mycroft came over to John and gave him a hard look, as if he might finally see what Sherlock saw in him. John felt unaccountably guilty for a moment, but then reminded himself that Moriarty had only noticed John because of Sherlock.

“John Watson. Welcome to the family. And take care of my little brother.”

John felt the gravity of the words and unconsciously slipped into parade rest.

“Of course.”

“Contact me when you arrive.” Mycroft and the staff headed towards the manor as the four travelers climbed into the SUV.

“And good luck. You’re going to need it,” he called behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm I think a little car sex is in order next, don't you?? :-)


	14. Jeep Love

The ride was comfortable, and Sherlock allowed his head to loll back against the seat. John was asleep, having had his slumber interrupted several times last night. Sherlock was tired but had decided to stay up for John's sake. He didn't want to be caught off guard; there was too much at stake. He felt a painful, bittersweet tug in his chest when he looked at his partner. He hadn't felt that way in...well, forever.

He absolutely must protect John. This was all Sherlock's fault. The Holmes brothers and Moriarty had never gotten along, and in the last 100 years of so Sherlock had taken great enjoyment in playing tricks on the other vampire, mainly because he was bored. Rarely did the games, as they called them, cause too much harm. Sure, there was the occasional loss of human life, which Sherlock was beginning to regret, but overall they had kept it mostly impersonal. Until now.

If necessary he would surrender himself to Moriarty in order to save John's life, but he doubted that's what Moriarty wanted. No, he wanted to torture Sherlock by hurting John. Moriarty was not trustworthy. Sherlock had seen him break promises and oaths with others, switching sides whenever it suited his whims. More than one acquaintance of Sherlock's had fallen into Moriarty's trap, believing his promises of concessions and truces.

He realized he was staring at John when sapphire blue eyes suddenly opened and looked into his. "Come here," John said sleepily.

Sherlock hummed his assent and slid over the seat until their legs were touching from foot to thigh. He twined his hand with John's.

"You look upset," John ventured.

"Just worried," Sherlock admitted. "There are so many variables, and Moriarty is at least as powerful as Mycroft. He has everything, and almost everyone at his disposal."

"Well, he doesn't have me, does he?"

"That's the problem. He can't stand if something's not his."

"Something you know nothing about," John teased.

Sherlock began to stutter indignantly before John ran his fingers along his arm lightly.

"I'm just teasing," he explained.

Sherlock smiled crookedly. He pulled John's torso towards him and gently laid John's head in his lap. Blushing, John grinned and reached up to run his fingers along the bottom of Sherlock's chin and down his throat. After a minute of this and a sheepish glance to make sure no one was watching, John cupped Sherlock around the back of his head, pulling him down for a kiss.

A slip of tongue on tongue and John sighed deeply, drowning in the lovely sensations before fighting playfully for control. Sherlock deepened the kiss and began nipping on John's mouth. When, after a few minutes he nicked John's lip with a canine, Sherlock's breathing hitched as he tasted the tang of bleed welling up.

John giggled and then relaxed again as Sherlock healed the spot.  
When they finally broke apart, they were both giddy and Sherlock had a hungry look in his eyes, which John was sure he returned. Clearing his throat, John looked bashfully towards the front of the car. Colin was studiously watching the road and avoiding his eyes. He wondered if the smell of his blood had distracted him at all, but decided there was nothing he could do about it even if it had.

A nervous laugh escaped him as he saw Mia staring at them with a lascivious smirk. He turned towards Sherlock, who shrugged.

"I hope you don't mind," Mia said quietly. "Watching displays of love and affection help me get a sense of my clients. It also serves as a balm to my soul. Sometimes I see very bad things, so when I can soak up good energy, I do." She paused, then added, "If intense feelings are in the immediate area, I can feed off those as well."

"Oh, uh. I suppose that's fine, we are being a bit exhibitionist at the moment, aren't we? But not all the time, if you don't mind."

"Certainly. What happens behind closed doors is private," she smiled reassuringly.

Any other time in his life John wouldn't have minded a pretty girl watching, looking at Sherlock though, he realized he wanted him all to himself. Even if it was for just a short time.

As if reading his mind, Sherlock said, "Let us know if you see anything suspicious," and with that, he pressed a button. Thick solid partitions of plastic slid from the bottom and top interior of the Jeep, meeting in the middle.

"It's a sort of flexible polymer Mycroft installed for privacy. Soundproof and opaque, even from clairvoyants and vampires."

"Oh," John managed. His pulse began tripping along at a fast pace.  
He knew Sherlock noticed, because he suddenly grinned predatorily.

"Is this private enough for you?" Sherlock said quietly in his deep baritone. 

"Well, yes, I suppose it is," John smiled at Sherlock.

The vampire stretched out on the backseat and scooted down so he was almost laying on his back. John turned so he was facing him and shimmied up Sherlock's body.

"This is cozy," John muttered. Sherlock hummed and captured John's mouth hungrily with his own, causing the doctor to whimper almost immediately.

John felt like he was falling, he was dizzy and didn't mind that Sherlock took the lead.

The vampire had begun the kiss almost feverishly, with an urgency that belied his desire. It was essentially a tongue fuck, but even so the vampire managed to convey his loyalty and commitment through his total focus.

The kiss morphed into smaller nips and sucks and John was positive it had risen at least 10 degrees in the backseat. He tried to push Sherlock back and sit up enough to reciprocate, but Sherlock emitted a sort of disapproving whine, so John concentrated on just trying to breathe, scrabbling for purchase desperately on the Jeep's seat and Sherlock's chest.

Mindlessly the couple untucked, unbuttoned, and unzipped, just enough for glimpses of pale flesh and tan skin. Navels peeked out through shirts that were two-thirds undone, hanging off one shoulder at best before other tasks became more important. Names were whispered feverishly and Sherlock touched any part of the man that he could, squeezing and rubbing with purpose. John felt lightheaded and knew he couldn't last long.

The vampire continued heaping attention on John, his care evident by the feather light caresses and kisses along the doctor's throat and jawline. As he latched onto John and began sucking a rather amazing feeling hickey on his neck, the doctor's eyes fell closed.

He had started panting; it was all too much. The sex, the sentiment, the danger, his looming death, Sherlock's sacrifices. The vampire's immortality, which was so at odds with John's current situation, and which, by definition, would surely drive them apart eventually even if they escaped the hellhounds. It all painted a rather dire picture.

The doctor felt like he was drowning in sentimentality but he didn't care. Sherlock was his oxygen. Even if he died in the next 24 hours, he intended to make the most of the time they had. With his eyes closed he could almost imagine they were the only two in the world.

He looked up desperately into his vampire's eyes, and what he saw there almost tipped him over the edge. Sherlock's eyes's had taken on their red and gold coloration, typical of an aroused vampire, but that was not what gave him pause. It was what he saw there, beyond the physical: the depth of caring and compassion that existed only for John. The truth that Sherlock was in love with him and planned to die for him. John's breath caught in his throat: the humanity was staggering.

Pleasure shot through his nerve ending as pressure was applied to slick heat. Sherlock's open palm worked in tight circles and long pulls. Thrusting mindlessly into Sherlock's fist, John's mouth fell open in a silent, needy prayer, having lost the ability of speech minutes ago.

He tipped his head forward until their foreheads met. They could no longer manage proper kissing, and instead sloppy, open mouthed exchanges were interspersed with simply sharing space while John gulped for air, both mouths twisting with pleasure.

One more flick of the wrist and John sobbed through his climax, shuddering through wave after wave of ecstacy. Sherlock moaned and bit his lip, his eyes closed tightly and face hidden in John's neck as his body exploded in pleasure.

When they came to, they laid there a few more minutes,kissing slowly and sweetly. Eventually John heaved a mighty sigh and sat up. After cleaning up, they pulled their clothes on. Smiling devilishly, Sherlock rebuckled John's belt. The vampire tried to tease his hair back in place, but gave up after a minute and let an amused John take over. 

After they were decent Sherlock pushed the control to lower the partition. Colin and Mia were listening to an alternative rock station, Colin bobbing his head along to the beat. There was a pregnant few moments before Mia broke it.

"Well I know I feel better!" She sputtered, referring to her ability to receive 'good vibes.'

John stared in embarassed shock, unsure what to say. Sherlock, on the other hand, started chuckling, and was soon joined by Colin, Mia, and finally John. 

"We're glad you enjoyed it," Sherlock said, smiling over at his partner and holding his hand tightly.


	15. Myths and Legends

Finally turning his attention outside, John realized he didn't know where they were going.

Sensing the question, Sherlock offered: "We are going to my house in Kirkbymoorside, which borders the North York Moors National Park."

"Well that's definitely remote." John hoped fervently that he wouldn't die there since no one would ever find him if he did.

"It's quiet, and we will have privacy when...if we encounter the hellhounds. We won't need to worry about anyone about."

"That's what I'm afraid of," John quipped.

Sherlock reached over and lifted John's chin until he was looking at him.  
"Listen to me. You will be protected, and you will survive this."

John sighed. "And what about you?"

Sherlock paused. "I am going to protect you, no matter the cost."

"That's not good enough."

John looked away as tears welled in his eyes. After that they sat in silence, John looking out the window and Sherlock rubbing his knuckles lightly. Eventually Sherlock pulled out one of his texts out and began reading about hellhounds.

After a few minutes, Sherlock began reading out loud, perhaps to distract John from his thoughts. Although in retrospect maybe this wasn't the topic he should have chosen.

"Hellhounds are demonic servants of hell, who follow instructions from either Satan or a descendant of Satan, or other demons. Encountering hellhounds often portends imminent death. Legend says if a person looks in their eyes three separate times, it will prove fatal almost immediately."

"Is that true?" John asked quietly. This was the part of what Moriarty said that bothered him the most.

"I don't know," Sherlock replied, searching his eyes. "But I don't intend to find out. Things become legend for a reason, so it's quite possible it's at least partially true."

Sherlock resumed reading out loud. "These hulking, black supernatural creatures haveamazing strength, a foul odor, and may be able to talk. Hellhounds, like all other demonic creatures, avoid daylight and feed on fear, desperation, and hate."

"Not all demons feed on fear and hate," John corrected, looking at Sherlock expectantly.

Sherlock grimaced, wondering how much of the demonic creature description John attributed to him.

"Well, I do avoid daylight, and I have instilled fear to get my way before. But that's over now, John. I am not under demonic rule. I make my own choices."

"You can just decide that?" John said wondering just what kind of standing Sherlock had in this, and other worlds.

"Of course. It's called free will. Most vampires forget they have it, instead responding to the call of blood and death. I am not a fledgling, meaning I am not easily swayed. You will find, John, that just as I was never considered a typical human, I am not your typical vampire.

We have enormous power, but most vampires use only a fraction of it. They find comfort in following their instincts like most beings, and between such a drastic lifestyle change and the shock of becoming a vampire, they forget to think for themselves as the years go on. Just like humans, vampires are creatures of habit. This complacency is the main reason vampires cannot advance to a higher position in any world, or become true leaders. Not unlike humans, in that respect.

Famous examples of hellhounds include the Barghest from Yorkshire, the Black Shuck, which eyewitnesses maintain haunted and killed travelers near Norfolk, Essex, and Suffolk, Moddey Dhoo of the Isles of Man, and Gwyllgi of Wales, and of course Cerberus, who guards the gates of hell."

"I remember...I remember hearing about the Black Shuck when I was a kid. I use to laugh it off, but now since I have seen them...they are just as terrible as it says."

John closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing as his mind swiftly recalled the glowing eyes boring into him, the caustic smell of brimstone, and enormous teeth dripping with blood.

An arm snaking around his shoulders made him start, and he leapt back in fright, letting loose a very unmanly yelp. When he saw Sherlock holding up placating hands and leaning away slowly, he allowed himself to breath, and took great gulps of air. Sherlock slowly put his hand on his back and drew small, comforting circles. After a minute he reached over to grasp Sherlock's free hand.

"So...how do we kill them?" Colin ventured.

"I'm not sure. The literature mentions that salt and holy water will harm or destroy them. I am not sure I believe the former, since there is plenty of salt in the air along the coast. Holy water could buy us some time, however."

"What else?" John pressed.

Mia spoke up. She had not said much lately but was clearly thinking about the problem from a sorcerer's point of view. "I can make protection spells and complete warding rituals. That might also buy us time and weaken them."

"That's good," Sherlock said. "But we need something else. Something to distract them from John. They have been known to bargain with other demons, which is why they have the ability of speech. It stands to reason Moriarty has something over them, otherwise they wouldn't beholden to him."  
"What could it be?" John said.

"I don't know. But we will be at my residence soon, and then the 24 hour head start will be coming to a close. I need to think. Please don't talk unless it's necessary." Sherlock closed his eyes, his posture erect but relaxed. John just watched as his mind slipped farther and farther away.


	16. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hellhounds POV as they are released to hunt John and Sherlock.

Licking up leftover blood from the evening sacrifice, Moloch thought about his pack's current situation. He followed a chain of thoughts not unlike that of a human. The difference being that hellhounds used pictures, impressions, and symbols more often than words when thinking or communicating. Words could be misuderstood, and humans with their petty disagreements liked using ambiguous wording.

Moloch surveyed his den as they waited to be released for the next mission. A dark basement served as the pack's lair. It was manmade and open, with a concrete floor. Not a respectable home for hellhounds. It went against the grain of instinct and pack mentality. This was not how it was supposed to be, not how it had ever been in his long lifetime. 

In times past the hellhounds responded only to the dark master, and were free to roam and hunt in the night, maiming and killing and making dens in whatever thick forest they were sent to. They were not happy because hellhounds were by definition not happy, but they were as content as a dark being could be. They were treated with respect.

That was before him, before Moriarty. Before he thought he could do things better. The gall of a mere underling to challenge the dark master! That Moriarty had caused the deaths of hundreds of thousands of humans was not a concern to him. He had simply wanted to show off his talents, namely instilling prejudice and hatred, and turning humans against each other through genocide and war. Moloch thought it sloppy and gratuitous, showy. The humans called it the Vietnam War. 

Sadly Moriarty's treachery had in fact impressed their master. As a reward Moloch and his pack were awarded to the newly named demi-master Moriarty for his ingenious trickery. The vain vampire assumed hellhounds would always follow their immediate master, when in fact they only answered directly to the ultimate dark master. They were following Moriarty's orders more in deference for the dark master. 

Moriarty had been given plenty of opportunity to blossom into a true leader, but instead he continued to engage in petty fueds with other vampires and underlings. Moriarty had never been a good demi-master, nor did he care to. He starved the hellhounds, tortured them for fun, and brought shame to the pack.

Cain and Abel were young pups, relatively speaking, compared to Moloch and his sire Vlad, and as such did not know they were being disrespected so greatly and objected much less. After all, Moloch reasoned, Moriarty was their first demi-master. 

Vlad would also be joining the hunt, but the grizzled hound had remained quiet so far as to his thoughts on the subject. The pack looked to him for guidance and experience, but Moloch served as the brain: intelligence and logic were his areas of expertise. Cain and Abel, being young, had become the brawn of the group. As he got older and weaker, Vlad depended on his pack to keep them safe from unreasonable harm. Hellhounds could be killed, after all, like any supernatural being.

Something felt off for this mission, but Moloch couldn't decide what it was. Certainly the addition of that undead female had confused his nose for a time after the human, John Watson, was brought into their lair. After meeting him, Cain and Abel had returned, and in their sacred canine language, had described the small man who they were to hunt. 

He disliked his smell immediately, as with most humans, but there was a stronger, purer scent that made Moloch wary. Even more concerning was a dark presence intertwined with the man's scent, as if they were one. From Moriarty's ramblings, he gathered this scent was that of the vampire Sherlock. Normally he could tell who was a friend and who was a foe, but these new scents were troubling him.

The door to their den clanged open, and Moloch growled as he saw Moriarty enter.

"Hello my pretties!! Are you ready? This is going to be sooo much fun! I really wish I could go with you, but I've got so much to do here in preparation for your return," Moriarty said in his typical nauseating sing-song voice. 

He paused, and that was when he noticed Moloch's low rumbling growl.

"No! Bad dog!!" Moriarty cried angrily. His face had gone from happy to a deep ugly scowl in moments. "Keep it up, and you won't eat for a week, you mongrels!!" 

Moloch turned to look at his pack, two of them cowering and another impassive. The only reason he stopped growling was for them.

"That's better!" sang Moriarty. "Now then. Where was I? Oh yes, about to release you so you can destroy John Watson, and in doing so, destroy Sherlock as well. Excellent!" 

He walked over and flipped up a glass casing on the side of the wall which revealed a button and a keyhole. He extracted a necklace with a key on it from around his neck. Putting the key in the lock, Moloch felt his pack tense with anticipation. 

Once the button was engaged, the entrance to their den would slowly open into a well worn underground gravel road, the slope of which went up gradually for miles. This the hellhounds would follow until they finally reached the outskirts of town, exiting the cave and reaching the outside world via dense forest.

Sensing their anticipation, Moriarty paused as he turned the key and addressed them. 

"It's been 24 hours, which is how long I told John and Sherlock they had before you came after them. I know...perhaps too generous of me...but it was really a trivial amount of time in order to give them false hope. Or at least John. I am sure you will find them soon and be eating a fresh corpse by morning! Mmm-mmm!" Moriarty let out an evil laugh. 

Turning excited, perverse eyes on the lot of them, Moriarty continued in a viscious tone, almost spitting the words: "And remember!!! I don't care how you do it, but I want John Watson dead, and Sherlock alive."

He turned the key, and punched the button to lift the heavy concrete door. As Moloch, Vlad, Cain and Abel leapt from their spots and streaked past them, he called: "Bye my loves!! Enjoy the hunt!!"

When they had gone, Moriarty closed the concrete door with a self-satisfied smile and a chuckle at what he had released and for what purpose. Nothing could bring him down. He was finally going to get Sherlock...and his pet John Watson.


	17. The House on the Moor

John fell asleep for the last of the drive. Feeling the twists and turns of the vehicle as itslowed and made its way to its destination was enough for John's subconscious to penetrate the fog of sleep and realize that they were almost there. He was surprised when he looked over and saw that he had woken up before Sherlock had. Smiling, he ran a hand through Sherlock's curls. 

"What is it?" Sherlock mumbled as he woke and tried to sit up (adorable) John thought.

"I am NOT adorable!" Sherlock insisted like a 5 year old.

This made Colin and Mia burst out laughing and John bit his lip, shoulders shaking from laughter. John spread his hands in surrender and said, "Sure, whatever you say."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and they both turned to look as the SUV turned into a broad driveway. John literally stared with his mouth open when he saw the house. It was gorgeous, modern, and sat on a hill with the moors opening up below it. It was angular with minimalist walls and floors jutting out at odd angles and then joining to make open rooms, many of which had first and second story patios and porches overhanging onto the manicured grounds. Much of one side and part of the back of the house, John realized as they pulled up, was made of glass. Typical Sherlock, thought John. 

"Only you would choose to have so much bloody glass in your house. I knew you liked danger, but this is ridiculous, Sherlock." John said. 

Sherlock smiled and got out of the car. "I'm a vampire who likes light, what can I say."

"A bit too ironic for my taste." Colin chimed in. Mia nodded, "Me too, and I'm not a vampire!"

"There's plenty more that can't be seen. I just stay below during the day. Besides, not that many people come out here," Sherlock said indicating the vast nothingness around them. "So I don't have to worry about privacy, for the most part. I can do without nosy neighbors. Out here its just me, the moor, and the forest. Perfect."

Warm lighting tinted the blonde wooden ceilings and floors a golden hue while making shadows on the white stucco portions of the house. There was still a little sunset left, but it was getting plenty dark enough for vampires to move around freely, which was making John nervous. 

They unloaded quickly, and John swore softly as the front door opened into a large living room, complete with a vaulted ceiling and polished marble floors. A kitchen with an island and square stools were to the left. White and silver cabinets and furnishings were accented by hammered copper pots and pans hanging near the brick oven.

"This is amazing!" John said, knowing Sherlock would deduce what he thought, but still not being able to keep his mouth shut. He walked to the opposite side of the room and opened the sliding glass windows. It was sprinkling, but that didn't keep John from walking outside.

If possible, the back of the house was even more sensational than the front. The pool ran the length of the house and was dark blue, lit by lights shining from the bottom. One end was shallow and the pool gradually sloped deeper towards the opposite end. Over the deep end a constantly cycling waterfall made a calming shushing noise. Paneled dark eucalytus boards interlocked to make up the floor of the deck, drops of rain beading on them as they fell. The shallow end of the pool ended underneath a short overhang which was actually one of the balconies from the second floor. A fire pit was built into the deck next to a winding ratttan wicker sectional sofa. 

"Wait until you see the hot tub," Sherlock smirked at John's expression.   
"Um, how about now?" John grabbed Sherlock's hand. It had started raining harder, and they all went back inside, and Sherlock paced around the couch as he rattled off where everything was.

"They won't come while its raining, as I mentioned rain may harm the hellhounds, and additionally they aren't likely to come until well after dark. Let's stay in contact, Mia, Colin, I want you both on lookout. One of you can watch the moors from the back door, the other will be in the control room downstairs so you can watch the entire perimeter. John and I will be out shortly. I believe that is all for now." Sherlock whirled around and grabbed for John's hand. He stooped briefly to pick up a duffel bag.

"Let us know if you see anything via intercom." With that he led John downstairs.

They passed a room on the right. Glancing in John spied several wall mounted plasma screens showing the outside perimeter as well as the doors. There was recording equipment and a few buttons mounted on the wall below the screens.   
"Control room," Sherlock confirmed.

John nodded and followed Sherlock towards the end of the short hall. There were two more doors. Sherlock put his hand on one of the doors and pointing over his shoulder remarked, "That's the bedroom, and this is the indoor hot tub and sauna." 

He led the way inside a tiled foyer and opened a glass door into a warm, windowless damp room. A shallow pool was sunk into the center of the small room. The water was emerald due to the green lights situated near the bottom of the pool. This gave the whole room a relaxing, zen sort of feeling, John thought. The pool was rectangle and outlined with black marble, while the rest of the floor was gray marble. Subsequently smaller inlaid rectangles formed seating in the tub, and the seats were lined with waterproof cushions. In two of the corners the seats formed reclining loungers. Besides the hot tub, there was a small table and two chairs, as well as a tea tray and an electric kettle. He heard the duffle bag hit the ground with a thunk.

He turned to Sherlock, about to say how he couldn't believe this was his house, but thatwasn't right was it? He could believe this was Sherlock's house. He just couldn't believe Sherlock wanted to share it with him, of all people. So instead he just turned and kissed him, deep and hard, and put everything in that kiss he wanted to say.

The kiss began passionate and insistent. Sherlock growled as he broke away and tried to kick his shoes off and undo John's belt at the same time, but instead accomplished nothing. John huffed a laugh but soon stopped as Sherlock pushed him against the tiled wall and began kissing and nibbling on his earlobe.   
"Clothes off. Now." Sherlock rumbled. John nodded quickly and grabbed Sherlock neck to pull him into a bruising kiss. Sherlock made the sweetest little noises, John thought, as he tugged off Sherlock's shirt and ran his hands down the pale, lovely stomach in front of him. 

John suddenly stopped and spread his hands in front of him, his forehead creasing . "But I didn't bring my swim trunks. Whatever shall I do?"

He giggled as Sherlock grabbed his shirt and tugged brutally, popping a button off. "I think we'll manage," Sherlock said as he bit John's shoulder lightly. 

"It's very humid in here," John said, hopping on one leg and finally managing to peel his trousers off.

"Mmm-hmmm."

Sherlock had started pressing feather-light kisses onto John's jaw where a light blonde stubble had grown over the last 24 hours. "I like this," he managed, then blushed, appalled that John could reduce his usually articulate way of speaking to simple sentences and sounds. 

"I like how your stubble feels against my skin," Sherlock tried again and licked his way up to John's ear. He felt John smile and captured his mouth again, taking the time to thoroughly kiss him. 

"Nnnnghh," Sherlock sighed as John started licking and laving attention on his nipples.

By this time they were naked, and Sherlock pulled away to whisper, "Let's get in the water."

John smiled and led Sherlock towards the shallow pool. Sherlock took a moment to press a few buttons, turning on the heat and the jets for the hot tub.   
John sat down on one of the benches and pulled Sherlock onto his lap, both emitting moans as they settled into the warm water and began to touch. 

Sherlock ran his hands over John's biceps, playfully splashing the wetness onto John's chest and leaning over to lick it off. John blew hot air out through his lips as he watched, and then spanked the vampire's plush arse in retaliation Sherlock laughed in surprise and John pinched him hard just beside his cleft. Sherlock let out a little yip.

"Oh, I'm sorry did that hurt?" John said in mock concern.

Sherlock smirked and stuck out a big, pouty lip. "I think you need to kiss it, Doctor..." 

John chortled and said, "That was a terrible line...but effective," before pulling Sherlock roughly further into his lap. 

As their cocks slipped against each other in the wet bath, John effectively stopped breathing and laid his head back to groan. Sherlock leaned his head down, fingernails digging into John's chest, and bit the tender neck muscles hard enough to draw blood. Lifting his eyes, Sherlock felt himself go rock hard as the drops of blood on John's neck came into focus. 

John, sensing the change, lifted his head, his smile fading. He stared into the vampire's eyes which were in the process of transforming: no longer coy and celadon, but now completely dilated: pure black with a ring the color of lava and gold.

The doctor swallowed, and he watched the vampire's eyes track the muscle movement in his throat. He marveled as he watched his lover transform into something feral and pure animal, something beautiful and deadly. It made him even fucking sexier, John thought, if that was even possible. 

The demon flicked his eyes up to meet his, "John," he tried, but it was a desparate, wrecked sound. "I want...I need you inside me. Now."

"Oh god, oh fuck, yes," John whimpered. "Where?"

Sherlock tioned towards the duffle bag. "In the side pocket."

John quickly sloshed out of the tub and grabbed the bag with wet hands. He unzipped the bag and found what he needed: hot tub oil. He flipped the bottle over and read the ingredients. Cold-pressed almond, sesame, grape seed, safflower, and avocado oils. 'Silky' it claimed on the front. That would definitely work, John thought.

He scrambled back and they fell into another deeply passionate kiss. John tore the little plastic top off the bottle and rubbed some on his hands, coaxing Sherlock to turn and kneel on the seat. Sherlock grinned and obliged.   
"I believe you had an injury, sir?" John said, kneeling behind him and massaging Sherlock's unbelievably smooth ass cheeks. 

"Mmmm, yes doctor, I think just near...the middle," the vampire looked back and gave John a lecherous look. 

"Well just let me have a look," John said. He would feel silly, but he couldn't get over how gorgeous Sherlock was. He was so turned out it would be hard to form coherent thoughts soon. Laughing a bit, he leaned over to look at the spot where he had pinched the vampire. His skin was so pale it stood out plainly and looked worse than it was.

"Ah yes. Just let me apply some pressure in that area. I think you'll feel much better." He began massaging, lightly at first. Sherlock hummed and pushed back. John smiled. Looking at this perfect, gorgeously shaped body, John couldn't help but stick the tipof his tongue out and lick all around the bruise. He felt his legs and cheeks, squeezing and massaging. He could tell Sherlock was enjoying it as he moved restlessly under John's fingers and started emitting low whines. Feeling bolder, he spread Sherlock's cheeks and began tonguing his opening. 

This was apparently the right thing to do. Sherlock began producing a keening sound, and John continued to lick, suck, and press sloppy kisses to his hole. After a few minutes John switched to tongue fucking, and Sherlock started swearing like a sailor. 

"Jesus John, please please please!" Sherlock begged. "I don't need much preparation, it won't hurt me." 

John poured more oil onto his hands and began using his fingers. He would feel awful if he hurt Sherlock. Maybe vampires could handle more pain, but John didn't want to cause any. 

With sweat streaming down his face already, John leaned back onto the seat behind him, pulling the vampire's hips back minutely. "Come here, I want to see you, and you can take what you like." 

Sherlock turned around and moved towards him. Standing in front of him with steam rising on all sides, he looked like some kind of glorious evil god, perhaps worshipped in another era. Beautiful, dangerous, and mine, John thought. He smiled and their eyes met. The vampire held his gaze as he lined himself up and lowered himself onto John, maddeningly slow.

The good doctor's mouth dropped open in pleasure as Sherlock filled himself to the hilt. John's hands grabbed at warm slick hips and held tight.

"Oh bloody fucking hell,"John bit his lip to stop swearing.

Sherlock's face neared and he grabbed John's neck, pulling him close enough to whisper: "I want to you to fuck me until you can't breathe." John couldn't help but moan, and it sounded loud, he noted vaguely, as it echoed off the acoustic tiles and the water. 

Their mouths met, biting and licking. Finger splayed and adjusted, muscles contracted. They began a slow, steady rhythm, Sherlock rocking on John, John thrusting up into Sherlock. Gradually the speed increased as they became more desparate for pressure. The water started making obscene slapping noises against the tub. 

"John...can I?" Sherlock had a desparate, wild look in his eyes, and John knew what he was asking. 

"Yes...yes!" John said emphatically. He stretched his neck and watched in awe as the vampire bared his teeth. Reaching out to lick the tip of one canine in anticipation, Sherlock slowed their pace and breathed hotly onto John's neck. He licked and sucked his neck until there was a nice hickey, then bit shallowly, just to get a small stream of blood flowing.

"John...John...John..." Sherlock whimpered as he drank, settling back down in John's lap. He began pumping harder and faster than before, and John cried out. He looked between them, and seeing Sherlock's cock, hard and leaking, he reached down and worked a fist over the hot velvety flesh again and again. Sherlock gave a wild animalistic growl and leaned back, John's blood smudged on his lips and chin. 

John couldn't keep his eyes open as he came: his body seized deliciously as he came inside Sherlock: beautiful, tight, white hot pleasure cresting over and over. He opened his eyes just in time to see Sherlock come, and felt him tighten around him, setting off a kaleidiscope of small aftershocks that felt amazing.   
They rested their foreheads together and sat there panting for a few minutes. Sherlock took the time to lick and heal his neck. John noticed how his skin had gotten quite hot, between the water temperature and the sex, and that Sherlock's skin was still cool to the touch.

"Well, that was...soooo fucking good...oh my god." John said with a goofy smile on his face. Sherlock just beamed back and kissed his temple.

"Come on. Maybe you can catch some sleep before..." Sherlock stopped, not wanting to ruin the mood. 

John closed his eyes and nodded.


	18. So Domestic

Sherlock was laying on his back, arms folded beneath his head, watching the rain lash mercilessly against the skylight, which was, at the moment, the only light in the room. The pale yellow glow was coming from numerous small solar lights which illuminated the paths and gardens around the house. What filtered through the skylight was grey and diffuse, and highlighted the lighter strands of John's hair. 

After they had recovered from the hot tub, Sherlock had insisted John sleep for a while. The hellhounds wouldn't show up while it was raining, anyway. Probably. 

He focused on his breathing: breathe in for 4 beats, hold for 7, out for 7. He didn't need to breathe, per se, but it helped him concentrate. John, he thought. He turned on his side and propped himself up on one elbow so he could watch the doctor sleep. My John. What was it about him? Sherlock mused for the hundredth time. But no matter. Not important at the moment. 

Sherlock had a vague plan in his head of how they would deal with the hellhounds. Namely fight like hell and hope they didn't kill him or John. It was a shit plan, he knew that, but it would come down to a brawl eventually and he would rather get it over with sooner rather than later so he could focus on the underlying problem: Moriarty. He continued to go through memories stored in his mind palace, drudging up everything he knew about Moriarty or hellhounds. He needed to find a weakness. 

The frustrating thing was that Sherlock was positive he could have bested Moriarty and gotten rid of the other vampire years ago. But Sherlock had been bored, and a bored Sherlock was not a happy Sherlock. So he had allowed Moriarty to continue, and the challenges he sent Sherlock's way to continue. He should have destroyed Moriarty a century ago when he was younger and not nearly as strong. That would have saved everyone a lot of trouble. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Looking back, he had seen Moriarty growing in power within the vampire community (and outside), but had brushed it off. He made the mistake of underestimating another vampire, one that was hostile and obsessed with him to boot. And now it might cost him John. 

Sherlock glanced again at the sleeping man beside him and cursed himself. Mycroft had always said Moriarty would be Sherlock's downfall. For John's sake, Sherlock hoped it wouldn't come to fruition. Shifting off the bed, Sherlock pulled on a pair of his jeans, a black t-shirt, and a pair of black Doc Marten's. 

After their excursion inthe hot tub, Sherlock had forgone clothes for the short jog across the hall to the bedroom. Hearing John's breathing pattern change, he anticipated him waking and sat beside John's sleeping form. 

"Better?" Sherlock asked, running a finger down a crease in John's face from where he had pressed into the bedsheets. John captured the vampire's finger and kissed his palm, a smile spreading on his face as he gradually woke up. "Yes, now." 

Sherlock smiled and leaned towards his lover, giving him a quick peck. He pulled back, and looking at John, realized how much he could lose. "John." 

Looking up John saw the seriousness and fear in Sherlock's face and sobered quickly. "What is it Sherlock? Are they here?" 

"No, it's just..." his voice caught and after a few seconds of silence...allowed the moment to spin out between them. He noticed the color of John's eyes, the concern in them, how he was leaning forward to grip Sherlock's arms, such love and concern evident in every line on his forehead. No, he couldn't lose John.

Time to talk to Mia. Sherlock licked his upper lip and focused once more on what he needed to tell John, to keep him from panicking. 

"I'm just going to check the weather and the perimeter. I want to make sure everyone is in place." He tried to keep his tone light, but it was a lost cause. 

"Alright," John said but his eyes were suspicious. His gut was telling him there was something else Sherlock's wasn't telling him, but he didn't push it. 

"I'll stay here and get dressed, maybe check out the weapons." 

"Yes. That's a brilliant idea. I'll be back soon." Sherlock gave him another quick kiss and left the room. 

John let out a breath when he was alone "Well, I better get dressed anyway," he muttered to himself. He grabbed a duffle bag and headed for the en suite bathroom, looking forward to (perhaps) his last shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, sorry this has taken so long! More soon, I promise. Take a look at the cool modern house I imagine Sherlock would own on my tumblr: 
> 
> www.tumblr.com/blog/the-13th-tourist
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!


	19. Mia

Sherlock headed for the control room and found Mia there, switching between the different keyboards and looking for any sign of movement. The cameras all had night vision, and they turned and spun in numerous directions as Mia worked the control panel. Regular cameras wouldn"t with the helhounds, but Sherlock had guessed they would be able to spot them with night vision cameras. 

"They should show up as bright blue due to their extreme cold bloodedness, unless they have been camouflaged somehow," Mia jumped slightly at Sherlock's voice.

"Wow, you scared me!" Mia said, laughing nervously.

"My apologies. I forget you are not a vampire," Sherlock made a mental note to make more noise around Mia. 

Sherlock then spotted Colin on the third row of screens all the way to the right. He pointed at the dark blue figure glowing on the surveillance monitor.

"There. A perfect example of an energy sink, except the hellhounds should be even brighter blue. Remember to let us know via closed channel radio if you see any other heat signatures." 

Mia nodded. "Okay." Now she turned to him, smiling. 

"We both know that's not what you're here for, though." She turned and raised her eyebrows expectantly, indicating the other chair with her chin.

"It is remarkable that a human can sense so much," Sherlock said almost to himself with a chuckle. "Yes, there is something we need to discuss."

"Yes, well. Seeker, you know." Mia blushed slightly, and it was good for her complexion. "My mum and my mum's mum, etcetera, going back 9 generations. Every subsequent generation's power is stronger. It's like...really amazing women's intuition," she grinned.

"Indeed. You must fill me in on the details sometime. But right now, I need to explain what we're going to do," with that Sherlock got up and closed the door before he returned and sat down. 

"We?" Mia said quietly. She was a seeker, a healer, an empath...but not a fighter. She could never survive a hellhound or a vampire for that matter. Nope, she was plenty happy inside the control room, away from the fighting. She would do what she could through protection spells and enchantments. 

Sherlock leaned forward. His gaze intensified, and he seemed to be choosing his words carefully.

"Mia. What do you know about energy transfer? Specifically, dark matter?"  
Mia wasn't completely surprised by this line of questioning, but it still made her somewhat uncomfortable.

"Well, a demon's soul can be transferred, but it's unatural and very painful. Both dark and light energy can transfer, that is to say, undead or alive. It's dangerous though for everyone involved."

"What are the risks?" the vampire pressed.

"Well, death for the living. But the undead risk a greater fate: dark energy can be literally torn apart."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that being would not exist anymore- in any form." Mia shifted in her chair uneasily, and Sherlock could tell she was concerned for him and John. 

He took a split second to marvel at such caring souls, risking everything for someone they didn't even really know. Just his emotional attachment with John was possibly going to cost him his life. Emotions were counterproductive , illogical, and messy. But Sherlock had not ever been this happy in all the lifespans he had lived through.

Sherlock, mind now made up, said to Mia. "I need a favor."

Mia smiled sadly, but nodded. This was going to be a long night.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock had left Mia to prepare and went to see how Colin was doing. He found him walking the perimeter, not bothering to shield his body from the rain. His eyes were constantly sweeping the perimeter, but he turned at once as the other vampire approached.

"Colin. When they come, I need you to keep them busy, and keep their attention away from John as long as possible. They are after both of us, but I can handle myself. They likely have highly intelligent pack structure and communication, which is their main advantage. I will help you if I can, but I will be with Mia."

Colin nodded. "What's her role? As a human, she's got no business out here where the fighting is going to take place."

"I know, but she is very powerful in her own way. Hellhounds are bloodthirsty, but they are on a mission, and will likely just be out to capture or kill John and myself."

"Well, I'll just have to ruin their plans, won't I?" Colin turned and gave him a dangerous smile, showing his fangs. "They won't bother you if they are too busy fighting me."

"I appreciate that, Colin. You have always been a good friend of the family's. Don't underestimate them, though. Hellhounds packs are organized and vicious."

Colin nodded again. "I will give you as much time as I can, I promise you that."

"Thank you, Colin. John....he means..." Sherlock let his words die as he searched Colin's eyes. How could he explain to another vampire why this was so important? Why he couldn't let John die?

After a few long moments, Colin said quietly, "I know. I know exactly, because I had someone before...before I was turned." His gaze turned fuzzy as he looked into the middle ground. "I loved her. So I know what you are fighting for. I still remember how it felt, even as a vampire, you know?" 

He looked up at Sherlock. "I hope one day I can love someone else. You and John give me hope. Just because people think we are evil, doesn't mean we have to be, right?" Colin turned around to walk the perimeter again.

As Sherlock went back inside, he noticed the rain was tapering off: the drops were getting bigger and more widely spaced. It wouldn't be long now.


	20. In Limbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang prepares for the hellhounds.

_"Behind them was the forest full of black_  
    She-mastiffs, ravenous, and swift of foot  
    As greyhounds, who are issuing forth from the chain.  
On him who had crouched down they set their teeth,  
    And him they lacerated piece by piece,  
    Thereafter bore away those aching members."

-the appearance of hell hounds in Dante's Inferno 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

When John got out of the shower he dressed quickly. Looking up at the skylight he saw nimbostratus clouds streaking across the sky as the last bit of rain fell. Cumulonimbus clouds still loomed farther away, and John saw a flash of lightning that was not, as far as he could tell, followed by thunder, but helped illuminate the storm's anvil. A few remaining raindrops were slowly making their way across the skylight, the sky giving them a purplish hue.

John wandered into the living room and after a cursory look for Sherlock began rummaging through the weapon bags. He wasn't sure how much real damage you could do to a hell hound. He huffed a laugh, empty and desperate; the sound of someone who had already given up.

But no, goddamnit, he was Captain John Watson of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers, he could handle this. He took a deep breath and turned his attention to the weapons. Checking the weapons was sort of a ritual that John had found calmed him before a firefight. Like cleaning his gun, he could sort of zone out and let his training take over. 

He would get as prepared as humanly possible. It wouldn't due to let himself get nervous. So he just needed to focus. A glance his left-handed tremor showed that he was rock steady.

Looking through the weapons, John found the following in the smallest bag: several small containers of holy water, a satchel of salt, night vision goggles, and flares. In one of the larger bags John counted six, no, seven handguns of varying types. John felt his lower back for his Sig Sauer P226R semi-automatic and patted it affectionately. The bag contained a Browning L9A1, which John was also familiar with from his Army days, two Glock 19s, two M1911s, and two Mark 23s. John had used all of them at one time or another.

He checked each gun, making sure the chambers were full and safetys on. He then took one of the Glocks and set it aside for himself. He imagined Sherlock had his preferences as well...perhaps an Mark 23, which had been outfitted with a laser scope.

Glancing at what was clearly a crossbow case, John nudged it open and peered in curisouly. He had never shot one and never wanted to for that matter, but he figured he could use it if he had to. He had always found them so violent an option for hunters. The poor animal is being killed anyway, why let it suffer? 

Closing the case he turned to a trunk that he hadn't seen in the vehicle. Maybe Sherlock kept it here. John undid the lock and knelt down to lift the lid. The trunk was a dark maroon with silver clasps. It seemed not only a bit taller than your normal size trunk, but also longer than John was used to seeing. Curiosity peeked, John peered in.

There were threee automatic rifles unassembled in the case, including an M16, a G36, and an M4 Carbine. John had never liked guns all that much, but he had gotten used to toting the G36 around Afghanistan. Sighing he closed the case.

"See something you like?" Came Sherlock's deep baritone from behind him.  
John turned around. "Well, now I do," he smiled, reaching up to pull Sherlock down for a kiss. 

Sherlock leaned into the kiss and smiled back. His eyes traveled to the various bags and cases. 

"Mycroft insists the trunk stays here. Personally I don't need an armory, or care to use one."

"How much good will they do against hellhounds, anyway?"

"Well, not much, unless you're using the correct bullets." Sherlock reached into the trunk and pulled out a cartridge.

"These are specially made for the...undead, shall we say." Sherlock took one out and held it out to John.

"And how exactly are they different?" John said, turning a bullet around in his fingers.

"The inside is a holy water salt solution." Sherlock grimaced. "Hurts like a bugger. This should slow them down at least."

John nodded and put the bullet back. "And then? I am hoping we have more than brute force, because they are hellhounds, for Christ sake."

"I have a plan," Sherlock said, pulling John towards the couch.

"Would you mind enlightening me?" John couldn't help a slow smile as Sherlock laid down and attempted to pull John on top of him. John resisted for a moment before toppling forward. 

Sherlock's eyes fluttered as John leaned forward and kissed him. "In a minute," he mumbled as John settled more fully on him. 

"Sherlock, what are you doing? We don't have time for this."

Sherlock's storm grey eyes bored into his. He looked as if he wanted to speak, but instead buried his face in John's neck and began nibbling on it. "You showered, John. I just need to mark you, scent you, for lack of a better term."  
John pulled back enough to look at Sherlock. "Moriarty will have given them your scent to follow," Sherlock explained. "I want to make sure, when they get here, they know exactly who they are dealing with."

John dropped his head back towards Sherlock and kissed him long and hard. He nipped Sherlock's lips and traced his cupid's bow with his tongue. "And who," John paused to take a much needed breath, "would that be exactly?" He dove back in hungrily, grinding his hips into Sherlock's, causing Sherlock to gasp into his mouth. 

Sherlock grabbed John's head and pulled him back far enough to look him in the eyes. "Captain...John...Watson...and...Sher...lock...Holmes...of course," Sherlock punctuated each word with a little upward thrust, elliciting several moans and a curse word from John.

John would have been embarassed, dry humping in the living room like a couple of teenagers, except that it felt so bloody good! In John's experience, sex was most intense if you loved the person, or undead person. As good as it felt though, John wasn't sure he could relax.

"Sherlock, let me do something for you. I might sit this one out." Seeing Sherlock was about to complain, he added "Some of us can't have a go every hour! Also...I feel like one of us should be cognizant, just in case." 

He smirked and leaned back to unclasp Sherlock's belt. "But you get to relax."

Sherlock smiled, but it was more a melancholy smile than a randy one. As J

John kissed his chest and stomach, Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes. Truth be told he was actually nervous, but he was trying to put up a good front for John. And the more he and John touched, the calmer he felt.

He had calculated no less than 9 outcomes from their clash with the hellhounds, and in only 1 of those scenarios did John live more than a few days. Sherlock knew Moriarty, knew he would only keep John alive to torture Sherlock, knew he gave less than 2 shits about a human life. No, he would have his fun, kill John, and when he got bored of Sherlock, he would kill him too.

"John," his voice came out more worry laden than he would have liked. John looked up from where he was teasing down Sherlock's fly, confused and concerned. Sherlock reached down and pulled him up flush to him.

"What is it? Are you okay?" John searched his eyes.

"Just...let me hold you," he whispered. John seemed to understand, and sighing, laid down on Sherlock's chest, his chin under the vampire's chin. "I love you," John whispered urgently.

"And I love you," Sherlock said, smoothing John's hair down. He spent the next 20 minutes counting John's heartbeat and memorizing the life lines on John's right palm, feeling the sweet huffs of air as John breathed onto his neck and chest. Sherlock couldn't help noticing John's lifeline was short but deep. He generally thought that palm reading was bollocks, but he thought John's suited him some how. 

He became lost in his thoughts, and wondered if he would ever be with John after tonight. Sherlock pressed kisses to John's hair and eyes and hands and temple, tears steadily streaming down his face. He noticed a tear escaping John's cheek and caught it with his finger. Turning John's face to his, he kissed him very, very softly, and kept his eyes open the whole time. 

The intercom came on with a crackle. It was Mia, and Sherlock could hear how her voice was tight with concern. "Sherlock, John. They're here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about all the ammo and gun crap, I actually hate guns but it needed addressing. It also seemed like that would be the sort of think to calm John down.


	21. The Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hellhounds catch up with the gang.

As Sherlock approached one of the sliding glass doors along the back of the house, he took in the scene before him. 

The rain had stopped. Fog was moving across the Moors in horizontal tendrils, looking like ghostly fingers reaching for their next victims. Sea smoke had developed over the North Sea and had traveled inland on east winds all the way to Sherlock's house. This was not uncommon but was especially thick tonight.

Colin had gone out a hundred yards or so to meet the hellhounds, probably trying to keep them as far away from John as possible. The halo given off from Sherlock's floodlights reached about halfway to them. Even so, Sherlock could make out the hulking figures of the hellhounds easily; better than perfect eyesight was part of the vampire genetic code. He wasn't sure what Mia or John might see if they were to come outside. Humans would be lucky to see 20 feet in this soup. 

Which is why he did what he did next. Turning back to John, who had come up behind him, he kissed him fiercely and put a finger to his lips. John looked puzzled but nodded his head anyway and kept quiet. Hellhounds had excellent hearing, and they didn't need to give anything away if they didn't have to. 

With a nod he walked swiftly to the weapons and selected the M16 and loaded it with the holy water and salt solution bullets. Sherlock motioned for John to join Mia who had appeared at the entrance of the living room. When John reached her she tilted her head towards the equipment and then towards the stairs. He nodded, and they lifted the trunk first and began carrying it out of the room and upstairs. John glanced back just in time to see Sherlock walk out the back door. 

Sherlock knew John would be safe with Mia. He wanted him far away from the action if possible. Plus John was a hell of a sniper and could do the most damage from far away. Mia might even be able to put a spell or too on the weapons, although that wasn't her specialty. When Sherlock got to the spot that Mia had prepared for him that morning, he turned his attention back to Colin and the hellhounds and listened. 

Silence. They were at a standstill, so to speak. The hellhounds were actually circling Colin slowly, drooling and growling continuously. It was a terribly fearful noise, but Sher had heard worse. For Colin's part he turned with them so that he always faced the tactical leader that he had identified. He reasoned that their leader was bigger than the two younger pups but not grizzled like the elder. Colin, too, let out a series of growls and vicious sounds in return. Sherlock could see Colin was stalling still and was thankful. 

Sherlock closed his eyes and stepped into the circle. Talking in tongues and saying things he didn't even understand at times, he concentrated on the common bonds he had with the hellhounds of dark magic, their common ancestors, and their common master. The deep rich dark blood they both craved. He thought of his conquests over his lifetimes, of all the varied and successful kills he had made. He thought of his life as a vampire, then he thought of giving that away.

Sherlock was not sure how long he chanted. At times he heard whining, growling, he felt hot breath on his hands and realized he was kneeling. He heard Mia then, whispering the words they had gone over that morning, to transfer dark magic. Finally it was quiet. Sherlock opened his eyes.

What he saw shocked him but at the same time he felt elation. The chief hellhound, Vlad, as well as his succesor, Moloch, had entered the sacred circle Mia had created for Sherlock, and were sitting obediently in front of him. They looked as docile as a labrador retriever, tongues lolling out and tails thumping happily on the ground. But the important part was that they were in the circle with Sherlock, thus sealing the deal they had just made, and saving John's life. And Sherlock's for that matter. 

Sherlock threw his head back and laughed. Bringing his head down he felt tears streaming from his eyes. He looked around the circle and saw a Colin, unharmed and with a grin on his face, and Mia, looking tired but elated. Finally he felt John's fingers twining with his he looked into deep blue eyes that screamed "Thank you!" and "I love you!" as plainly as if it were yelled. The younger hellhounds, Cain and Abel, sat on the far side outside of the circle. They were showing respect in their posture but seemed not to be a part of the ritual.

During the ritual Moloch had at first refused. "I like the way you think, vampire, but we must follow our demi-god, however much we loath him and would love to see his downfall. He is a menace to the underworld and wields his power childishly; he abuses our species. However we have no proof of his pettiness to show our master."

Sherlock had communicated once again that he should accept his offer. If they would take Sherlock`s immortality, they could have an audience with their dark master, and could explain what Moriarty was really like. But Sherlock told them what they should say, what they should ask for, what they could have. And Sherlock can be very, very good at persuasion. A little magic helps too.

Essentially, Sherlock told the hellhounds to say something like this: that Moriarty wanted to sacrifice Sherlock, a perfectly evil vampire, just for sport; that he regularly beat and starved the hellhounds, those brave and terrible beasts of the underworld, and kept them chained to concrete slabs for days. That he had forced Sherlock into a corner, and now that great being was dead. But hey, they had salvaged his immortality at least (because what the dark master doesn't know won't hurt him).

And because the dark master is a bit of a micro-manager, Sherlock doubted Moriarty or Sarah would be around much longer.

In return: leave John and Sherlock alone for their natural lives. The hellhounds had no problem with this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright y'all hope that wasn't anticlimactic- I am not a blood 'n guts girl myself. A special event coming next to wrap it up and of course sexy times!!


	22. Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some celebrating, John feels a little guilty, then a bit more celebrating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super duper sorry this took so long, my computer and I suck. This may be the last chapter unless there is big demand for a wedding scene. THANKS SO MUCH for the kudos, comments, and patience. XOXO

They were inside the living room, laughing so hard they were crying. Well, Mia and John were crying, Colin was doubled over with laughter, finally waving towards the loo and proclaiming he was going to pee his pants if he didn't go, which set off a fresh wave of laughter. 

Sherlock was chuckling deeply as well and was retrieving 4 flutes and a bottle of champagne from the fridge. He rolled his eyes skyward when he saw it was a bottle of vintage 1999 Dom Perignon. Mycroft's doing, no doubt. He took the bottle and joined the others in the middle of the living room floor.

"I still can't believe you did that, John!" Mia laughed, reaching for a glass as Sherlock passed them out. "I mean, pop pop pop right on the arse, and it was whinging like a puppy that had been hit on the nose with a roll of newspaper! What a big bad hellhound!" 

"The small one almost came back to kick your arse!" Colin rejoined as he came back into the living room.

"Which would have been bad, let's face it, since I am no longer a vampire." Sherlock proclaimed, just before he popped the cork off the champagne bottle. It bubbled and fizzed, and he poured the frothy peach liquid out into the glasses everyone held out.

"Well, I couldn't help myself," John said grinning, "The smaller one growled at you, Sherlock, and I still had that handgun with the holy water bullets. I just wanted to teach him a lesson."

"Yes, let's just teach the hellhound a lesson," Sherlock mocked loudly. "It's a wonder they didn't rip your throat out." 

"We were still in the circle!" John cried, gesticulating in a circular motion with his arm, causing some champagne to slosh out.

"The magic had run out at the point." Mia said.

John paled a little at that, looking to Sherlock quickly and having the decency to look frightened. He took a big gulp of the champagne and licked his lips in appreciation. He looked up to see Sherlock watching his mouth and smirked.

"Thankfully at least two of the hellhounds, the two older ones who are head of the pack, are somewhat honourable and didn't allow it to go any further." Sherlock gave John's leg a squeeze before filling his glass again. 

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" John teased, sidling up closer to Sherlock. He didn't look any different, but John just couldn't get over that Sherlock was human now. Just like John. It was such a huge thing that Sherlock had done for him, and yet he couldn't really get his head around it. He wondered if he ever would. 

Sherlock had been watching the thoughts flicker across John's face with a small smile on his face. He took a long drink of champagne, making sure to stretch his neck out in profile for John and swallow very visibly. He put his glass down and looking innocently at John from under his big lashes. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

John swallowed and made some sort of desperate animal noise, and Mia and Colin burst out laughing.

Mia stood up and did her version of a fake stretch. "Hey Colin, let's go watch something."

Colin smiled at her weak attempt at not being obvious, and nodded. "Okay, what are you in the mood to watch?" He said as he got to his feet and followed her to the stairs. Colin assumed they would be commandeering the huge second entertainment center upstairs.

"You pick." Mia changed her path towards the stairs to shuffle over to the fridge and take out another bottle of the Dom Perignon. Grabbing her and Colin's flutes, she turned to lift her eyebrows suggestively at Sherlock and John, as if to say `have fun.' Sherlock got the jest of it and rolled his eyes. John just smiled back and waved good night. 

"Horror?" Colin said, oblivious to the second conversation that had just taken place. 

"Oh God, please no," Mia groaned. "They give me nightmares."

"Oh come on, seriously? We just battled hellhounds and you're scared of some stupid monsters?" Colin teased.

"I've had enough terror for one night, thank you," Mia said simply, upturning her flute to finish her first glass of champagne Sherlock had given her.

"Hmm, alright..." Colin trailed behind her, apparently deep in thought as they climbed the stairs. "Well, how about this. It's still in the supernatural vein, but a classic, and it'll make you laugh, or my running commentary will anyway: Ghostbusters."

"Yes. Much better," Mia nodded her approval.

Colin must have said something else witty, because more laughter erupted from the landing and as they turned the corner.

John was still watching the landing when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up...felt goosebumps spread all up and down his arms. He smiled just as Sherlock's lips reached his neck and attached themselves to the crook. John sighed with pleasure and leaned back.

"Now you're stuck with me," teased John. He was actually serious, and although he was sure Sherlock had thought this, them, through, he couldn't help but feel guilty at cheating his soulmate out of a few millenia.

Sherlock laughed and spun him around. "John. You know me. I was bored!" He laughed again and took John's face into his hands. "You know I would have thought of every angle."

"Yes." John allowed. He was tearing up, he couldn't help it. The champagne was going to his head. He was freaking out a bit now. What had he asked, or at least encouraged Sherlock to do? 

His hand flew to his mouth and he suddenly felt nauseaous. Sherlock felt the change in mood and turned his head to take in John's demeanor. 

"Sherlock," John started in horror, jerking away from his lover. He stumbled towards the couch but missed and finally fell over onto the plush carpet. Sherlock moved fast and cradled him as he fell.

John's mind was moving fast, but his mouth seemed to only convey groans. His eyes bored into Sherlock's. Oh god, what had they done? What had he done? It was paramount to killing Sherlock at least for several lifetimes, no eons. How long did vampires live, anyway? Forever, John supposed. Or as long as they damn well pleased. All the time he had taken from this man, had taken years as a loving (well, okay, maybe not) brother from Mycroft. Not to mention any parents and others Sherlock hadn't told him about yet. In fact, he hadn't know him that long, had he? Not long enought to ruin your eternity, John thought. 

Not to mention how Sherlock may or may not contribute to society in his expected very long lifetime. Hell, he may invent the cure for cancer, because, whoever eventually does, it will be someone just like Sherlock, John thought. Brilliant, rich, a chemist. But all that was impossible now. And for what, because I, John fancy you? Because I love you? He had been so selfish. Scared. Terrified of Sara and Moriarty, and dear god the hellhounds. And Sherlock had been there, and he was scared of him at first too. But it just felt so right, and Sherlock was so protective and caring. And yes for the love of god John loved him with all his heart. But he had no right, no right to make this decision about Sherlock's life.

Sherlock was no longer a vampire, but he had always been brilliant and could usually see what someone was thinking. So he saw everything that went through John's mind. His face was so readable, he really should get him to work on that if they went into criminal investigation. Sherlock shook his head vehemently as he saw each thought move across John`s eyes. He gathered John into his lap and kissed away each tear as it escaped, smoothing John`s brow and kissing it as well as his eyelids and lips. 

He whispered his response like a prayer, like an invocation to the only being in his whole universe. "l know these things love, you know I thought of all of this and more. And my life has never been special to me. Certainly not since I have become a vampire. Never until I met you my love. Listen to me, John: I don't want to murder people anymore. Never, ever feel guilty about saving me from that terrible fate." He paused to make sure John looked him in the eyes.

"I have found you, someone I didn't think existed, and who I never found in my first human life, but I get a second chance and you are here and you love me and accept me!! I cannot get over these facts. I used to take so many things for granted. Each day, everyday, everything with you now will be a marvel and a treasure. And we will live wonderful lives and die wonderful deaths, because we will always be in each others arms, John, together. Together John." He paused here and crooked an eyebrow. "If you'll have me, John?"

When he finished speaking John was no longer in danger of hyperventilating and Sherlock was almost hoarse. Tears were welling in both of their eyes but for different reasons now, and John was looking at him very tenderly. "Sherlock..." he whispered in a shaky voice. "I love you so much. God you've no idea. Yes, of course, I'm yours." 

He crushed their lips together hungrily, both of them gasping for air after a few moments. Sherlock slid a hand a into John's short hair while the other around John's lower back pulled John further onto Sherlock's hardening cock. John gave a moan that was swallowed up by another kiss, and sat up tall, allowing Sherlock to begin to take his shirt off and sprinkle kisses on his abdomen. 

Sherlock tipped his head up as John slid down slowly, letting John rub himself on Sherlock's neck. Sherlock didn't mind,heknew John adored his neck. Sherlock let out a rumble just as John's clothed dick slid by, and he mouthed at it and bit lightly while keeping eye contact. Sherlock released John and undid John's trousers quickly, pulling John's cock out. 

He held it lightly to his own stomach as John sank back down, and it went bump-bump-bump along Sherlock's six pack as it hit each muscle group. Sherlock smirked as John's eyes closed and he groaned loudly. This more than anything made John lose what little self-control he had. He dove for Sherlock's belt. They grappled and John ended up being rolled backward onto the carpet and on the bottom.

Sherlock's touch always began as a spark, but soon turned into a flame and then a blaze. John often reflected there was a tipping point in their lovemaking where he lost control: one minute he had a plan of how to take Sherlock apart, the next it was all he could do to hold on. He hoped it was similar for Sherlock sometimes.

John's eyes were half closed with want and they were finally out of their hateful clothes. Sherlock's skin was hot and John took his time, or as much as they could stand anyway. Sherlock seemed to be in a hurry, and John chuckled. "Do we have anything down here?" John ventured.

Sherlock must have been anticipating the question because he hoped up and jogged into the kitched, returning with a bottle of expensive extra virgin olive oil. Sherlock laid back down with John and they immediately started kissing deeply, Sherlock nipping and biting.

John wanted to ask how it felt without the teeth, and if the sex felt less amazing (it didn't to him) but he was too far gone. He needed to come soon. Sherlock laid a thick blanket down and John covered him. "You are so beautiful, Sherlock," John couldn't help but say as he watched Sherlock's muscles contract, sweat dripping off his brow as John entered him. It was beautiful, and it was organic, how they moved together, how they completed each other. 

They had a lovely rhythm going now and he looked up to see Sherlock biting his bottom lip with a sheen of sweat on his face. He reached between them and after squeezing his lovers balls, and being assured he couldn't handle much of that, thanks very much, he gave Sherlock's cock several long pulls, and watched his love shudder maginificently and cuss and moan lowly as come streamed across their stomachs. John could only stand to see that before his body was pulsing and he was pumping deep inside Sherlock.

Suddenly something occurred to John. His eyes flew open, and he felt Sherlock smiling against his shoulder. "Wait a second. Were you..?"

"Yes John. I was asking you to marry me." Sherlock looked up with an amused expression, but John saw there was also a touch of worry, almost too small to see.

"Well. I believe I gave you my answer." John smiled and they both started giggling. Sherlock kissed him deeply.

"I believe this calls for champagne," Sherlock said, and his smile was big enough to light all of London.


End file.
